For Paris is a Moveable Feast
by Warmwoollenmittens
Summary: When Elsa suggests a family vacation to Paris so she can visit her favourite couturier before the party, the captain surprises everyone by extending the invite to the governess. Despite the constant proximity of a charming sponge, an elegant socialite and seven children, Georg and Maria find themselves gravitating towards one another during a week spent in the City of Lights
1. Chapter 1

**Prologue**

* * *

"Come now, Georg darling. It will be marvellous."

"Elsa-"

"You know me, I'm not one to push. But I'm inclined to admit that even_ I _wouldn't be above begging at this stage!"

An exasperated sigh was all the socialite received by way of response.

"You have to admit, Georg," Max interjected, flinging himself lazily into the nearest armchair, "it _would_ make for a fantastic trip."

"Who said _you'd_ be invited?" The captain griped, helping himself to a whiskey from the decanter in the corner of the room and taking great satisfaction in the impresario's affronted scowl.

"Georg, I'm wounded, really I am. Everybody knows I make for the best company!"

The captain raised a sardonic eyebrow, "I think that's a matter of opinion."

"Well if you won't do it for us," Elsa simpered sweetly with an intimate hand on his forearm, "do it for the children. They will love it, surely!"

Ah yes, the children. It was a clever and very deliberate tactic on Elsa's part, Georg knew - to appeal to his brood's newly discovered powers of persuasion. She had to have known he wouldn't be able to resist their pleas - at least, not since the day he'd discovered them singing Edelweiss with their hair still damp with lake water. The seven of them had thus far been watching the altercation between their father and the baroness with hopeful anticipation, their wide eyes silently darting from one to the other as though following a particularly rapid tennis match. But sure enough, as soon as the opportunity arose to share their opinions, they could no longer contain their enthusiastic cries of agreement.

"Oh yes, really we would!"

"Please can we go, father?"

"_Please!"_

It had been years since he'd been to Paris - since before Kurt had been born in fact - and even then it had been for business purposes only. Business was _not_ what Elsa had in mind now, of course. News of a highly esteemed Parisian couturier was splashed across the pages of her glossy fashion magazines and she'd been positively insistent about visiting the place ever since.

"I simply _must_ get a new dress for the party Georg, and why not in Paris? We could make a vacation of it! Bring the children if we must - they'll need new outfits too."

As a young navel cadet, Georg had travelled the world, had woken up in more exotic places than he could even recall - and he was fairly certain that Paris had been among them, perhaps despite the haziness of his youthful recollections. With Agathe, he'd visited almost every major European city they could reach - many of which he hadn't been able to return to after her passing. Paris though, while beautiful and romantic, held very few memories of his late wife. Instead, he associated the place more with his childhood. And he couldn't help but recall that, as a young boy, he had fallen in love with the adventure of the place.

"Please, father," a small voice belonging to Marta broke his reverie, tugging on his heartstrings, "I've never been to Paris."

With a sigh, he turned to face his brood - but not before catching the little governess smiling privately to herself in the corner of the room. It seemed that she too was well aware of his newfound weakness when it came to the wide-eyed gazes of his children - and she was taking great delight in watching him struggle with it. Perhaps sensing that it would be unwise to intrude, she'd remained uncharacteristically silent during Elsa's little campaign. And yet, bizarrely, it was _her_ opinion he was most curious to hear.

"Have _you _ever been to Paris, Fraulein?" He heard himself ask before he had a chance to stop himself. Almost immediately, every head in the room swivelled to stare at the young woman, who startled and blushed scarlet under the sudden and unexpected scrutiny. Beside him, Georg felt Elsa tense, and it didn't go unnoticed that Max had fixed him with a perplexed look. He chose to ignore the both of them in favour of teasing his governess.

"Me?" Fraulein Maria bleated, clearly as confounded as everybody else that she - _the help_ \- had been addressed on the topic.

"Oh yes Fraulein, tell us," Leisl gushed excitedly, "have you?"

Maria didn't answer at first. Instead, her eyes flickered uncertainly to her employer, and Georg immediately felt like a brute for asking the question in the first place. But she'd been far too quiet lately, and if he was being honest with himself, he simply wanted to provoke her, to extract an opinion from her, to ruffle her feathers a bit. Mainly because whatever usually came out of her mouth was so refreshingly unexpected that it left him feeling simultaneously vexed and undeniably.. stimulated.

The thing of it was, he knew all too well that she'd never set foot outside of Austria. And he knew this because they'd spent many an evening, after the children had gone to bed, talking at length about the world beyond their homeland - places he'd seen in his past, places she would loved to have seen if it wasn't for that blasted convent of hers.

He recalled one particular evening two weeks ago in his study, when an analysis of the children's geographical education had morphed into a lengthy discussion about the French capital. Before long, he'd been regaling her with fond tales of Parisian street vendors, hidden jazz haunts, wrought iron balconies, delectable cuisine, and all the while she'd clung to his every word with childlike fascination. It was clear to him that she too was remembering that rather private conversation now. The blush creeping down her neck told him as much.

As though she had somehow guessed at his intimate observation, she quickly tore her gaze away from him and addressed her eldest charge on a shuddering breath, "No Leisl, I'm afraid I've never been to Paris."

"Well that decides it, father!" Louisa interrupted, rounding on the captain with bold determination.

"Exactly," Leisl agreed, "we simply must go so that Fraulein Maria can see the most romantic city in the world before she becomes cloistered!"

Her declaration was met by another series of enthusiastic murmurs from her brothers and sisters.

Feeling her face burn inexplicably, Maria could only look heavenward. To assume that she - the governess - would even be invited on a trip to the French capital with the distinguished family of an Austrian war hero was embarrassing enough to say the least, "Now children," she chastised gently, "I really don't think-"

"As a future _nun_," the baroness interrupted icily, "I imagine your Fraulein has no time for such notions," she moved effortlessly towards one of the sofas and dropped gracefully onto it, "Paris can be a most... _carnal _place," she added, with a look that suggested Maria wouldn't recognise something carnal if it were to come up and bite her in the armpit. And perhaps the woman was exactly right - because, much to Maria's mortification, she only felt her face flaming even more so.

"Oh come now, Elsa darling," Herr Detweiler scoffed good-naturedly, "you know as well as I do there's plenty more to it than that! Culture, for example. Cuisine, history, music. And of course - wine!"

The Captain, who was gazing at Maria with avid curiosity, seemed to have heard none of this - and she felt her confidence wavering again under his watchful eye. Why did he always have to stare at her that way? It made her feel as though he could read her every thought simply by looking into her eyes - a rather terrifying prospect, given the habit she'd recently developed of brooding about him in the privacy of her own mind.

"You must have heard a lot about the place though, no?" He asked her with a curious lilt - and just for a moment, the soft timbre of his voice made her feel as though they were alone in his study again, talking of everything and nothing all at once. She couldn't find the words to answer him though - and before she knew it, they were having another one of their many silent conversations from across the room - a habit that had somehow become second nature to them.

_Well? _His eyes insisted softly.

_Why are you being like this? _Her eyes replied, narrowing in silent reprimand.

A playful tilt of the eyebrow was his only response. _What have I done now?_

_You're tormenting me._ Her lips formed a thin line. _And quite deliberately!_

The smallest smirk dimpled his cheeks then, though she tried not to notice. _I thought you'd be used to that by now!_

She replied with no more than an exasperated huff. _You know full well that I'm familiar with Paris._ Her eyes flashed. _I learned about it from you!_

_And yet— _his gaze sparkled with mischief _—your thoughts on the place are still a complete mystery to me._

He watched as her scowl softened into something akin to surprise. _You care to hear my thoughts? _

Quite without warning, the humour left his face, replaced instead by something else, something that made it difficult for Maria to draw breath.

_Of course I do..._

She wasn't sure how long they stared at each after that, but it was long enough for her to feel a strange warmth bathing her limbs and lower back. It was happening more and more often these days; fleeting but stirring moments of intensity that would vanish as quickly as they'd come. It had started out innocently enough: a shared look when the children said something amusing, a knowing roll of the eyes when Max uttered something outrageous, a challenging raise of the eyebrow when one of them dared to tease the other. Now though, it wasn't mirth that powered the looks they exchanged. Even she, in all her innocence, was aware of that.

Swallowing hard, she chose to tear her gaze away from him and address the whole room with her answer, before she made a fool of herself entirely, "I've heard so many wonderful things about Paris that, in truth, I feel like I've been there many times before!"

The sudden tightening in Georg's chest was surprising, but by no means unwelcome. Yes, she _had_ heard many things about Paris. Things that _he _had told her. Things that he rather wished she could see for herself before she was locked away for the rest of her life.

"How _charming_," Elsa's voice cut through the room, her smile as false as her perfectly manicured nails, "and from _whom_ did you hear such wonderful things, my dear?"

The fleeting look of panic on the Fraulein's face disappeared as quickly as it had come.

"Oh the usual.. " she managed to shrug - though Georg could hear the slight tremble in her voice, "acquaintances. Poetry.. artwork. That sort of thing."

"Ah Fraulein, Fraulein," Max cooed with a knowing twinkle in his eye and a shake of his head, "no artwork or poetry exists that could possibly do the city justice. Though I do believe Hemingway put it rather elegantly. What was it he said again?"

"_Wherever you go for the rest of your life it stays with you_," the captain quoted, "_for Paris is a moveable feast_."

"Precisely!" Max beamed, taking a hearty swig of his drink, "and we all know how much I love a good feast!"

The children resumed their excitable chatter then, heads spinning with the promise of Parisian food and adventure - and Georg took the opportunity to study the Fraulein again undetected. _Paintings and poetry indeed_, he mused. The Paris in the books that Fraulein Maria claimed to have read and the artwork she claimed to have seen was_ not _the Paris that she pictured when she closed her eyes, he knew. The city conjured up in her mind was not the Paris portrayed by ink or watercolour, but rather, it was a uniquely private Paris. The city _he _had described to her, with all its nooks and crannies and idiosyncrasies. And she had deemed it_ wonderful_.

But it was a Paris she would never see, at least not if she continued to insist on dedicating her life to a higher purpose. And the thought left a sour taste in his mouth to say the least. It was just such a terrible waste, after all. Elsa had been wrong - the French capital was _just_ the kind of place for a girl like Fraulein Maria, with her free spirit and fire and zest for life. Paris would love the girl as much as the girl would love Paris; he was more than certain of that.

By the next morning, he'd made up his mind about Elsa's request. For the children, of course. Naturally.

* * *

**A/N: Thanks for taking the time to read this first chapter! I recently went on holiday to Paris and I just couldn't get this story out of my head, so I've decided to put it on paper. I know I mentioned in my last story about doing some vignettes — this is still on my to-do list! But for now, I hope you enjoy this story. **


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: Thank you to all who've reviewed/followed/favourited so far! Updates won't always be as frequent as this one but I'll do my best**

* * *

**Chapter One**

"Aren't you pleased? I thought this was what you asked for."

"Yes Max, darling, I got _exactly _what I asked for. But not because _I_ was the one doing the asking."

The impresario frowned, "I'm afraid I don't follow."

Sighing impatiently, Elsa turned to face him, the gravel of the driveway crunching slightly under her heels, "Georg didn't seem very keen on the idea of Paris when _I_ first mentioned it to him. And yet- " she inclined her head toward the scene unfolding in front of them, "here we are."

The impresario followed her gesture just in time to catch Georg's butler attempting - rather unsuccessfully - to wrestle a particularly large suitcase into the back of the family Mercedes. Next to the car sat two slightly smaller suitcases, patiently awaiting their turn.

"Careful with that Franz, the contents of that suitcase is worth more than your annual salary!" Elsa barked, receiving an unimpressed glare from the haughty little man.

"Do you think you packed enough?" Max quipped - making an undignified _oomph_ sound when Elsa responded by smacking him in the abdomen.

"Don't tease me, darling!" She snapped, lighting a cigarette, "Can't you tell I'm distressed?"

"Alright alright," he held his hands up in surrender, "so Georg changed his mind about the trip. Is that so impossible?"

"No just.. highly improbable. The man I know doesn't yield to anyone. Or so I thought."

The impresario gave a non-committal shrug, "I imagine he just couldn't resist the pleas of his doe-eyed children."

Elsa fixed him with a pointed look, "Yes.." she retorted, not without a good dose of irony, "the children.."

Before Max had a chance to quiz her further - though it didn't take a genius to figure out what she might be implying - the very subjects of their conversation suddenly burst through the front door and spilled out onto the driveway, their voices raised in a cacophony of excitement as they pushed and shoved their way to the car. Heading up the throng some moments later - and throwing a hand to her head with a dismayed little moan - was the spritely young governess.

"Good morning baroness, Herr Detweiler," she greeted with a somewhat frantic smile, her eyes darting back to her charges again when they started to wreak havoc mere millimetres from the captain's prized vehicle, "Children wait!" She implored, "Not too close to the-"

"_Fraulein!" _Came a deep, bellowing voice from somewhere back in the house.

"Ooooh!" the girl moaned again, turning from car to house, to car and back again, clearly unsure as to who she should deal with first - her boisterous charges or their incorrigible father. Either way, she wasn't quite quick enough with her decision, for Georg emerged from the villa at that very moment looking positively murderous.

"Can you _please_ keep your charges under control long enough for us to actually make our train?" he barked, "It'll be a miracle if we even make it at this rate."

Irritated by his foul mood, Maria found herself blurting out a retort before she had a chance to curb her tongue, "Forgive me sir, but it's _you_ everyone's waiting on."

The sudden look of surprise on the captain's face at being spoken to in such a manner was quickly replaced by a thunderous scowl - but she was saved from his verbal throttling by a timely interruption from Herr Detweiler.

"Ha, she's right Georg," the impresario chortled, checking his watch, "I hate to be the one to break it to you, but you're late!"

"I'm _never_ late," the captain announced sharply, "everyone else is simply early."

Maria couldn't help but roll her eyes. As much as she and her employer had formed a truce of sorts over the past few weeks, he was still utterly impossible when he was like this - in one of his stubborn, irritable moods. But at least she knew how to deal with him when he was being an insufferable boar. His scowl she could handle - after all, she gave as good as she got and he knew it! It was the _other _times that she found herself floundering: the times when he was kind to her, when he would tease her, when she would notice him gazing at her as though he was looking upon some rare bird or delicate flower. He'd looked at her that way the night of the puppet show, not to mention the evening that Baroness Shraeder had insisted on this very trip.

It still didn't feel real to Maria that she was actually going to the French capital with a distinguished aristocratic family and their esteemed guests. She'd hardly dared to believe it when the captain had first informed her of his decision.

"_Me? Come to Paris?" She'd gawped, unsure what was more surprising: the fact that he was inviting her along, or the fact that he'd changed his mind about the trip in the first place._

"_But of course," he'd insisted innocently, "I thought you'd be pleased. Don't you want to see Paris?"_

"_Yes I'd love to, Captain! But I wouldn't want to intrude-"_

_He'd waved her concerns away with a flick of his hand, "Nonsense. The children will be twice as excited as they normally are, which means they'll be twice as difficult. I'm going to need all the help I can get, so I'm placing _you _in command, Fraulein! Or should I say- " he'd bowed then with the smallest of smirks that had set her stomach curiously aflutter, "mademoiselle."_

_Unable to hide her excitement, she'd clapped her hands together in triumph and he'd surprised her once again by laughing heartily - a deep, earnest laugh that lit up his noble profile and left his eyes shining with mirth. It was moments like _that _that she tried not to dwell upon too much, lest her imagination should run away with itself._

"Georg?" Baroness Shraeder trilled sweetly, bringing Maria back to the present, "should we depart soon? We certainly don't want to lose out on the first class cart."

It seemed the socialite was somehow excused from the captain's irritable mood because, rather than throwing her the same scowl he'd bestowed upon Maria, he instead fixed her with a disarming smile and a flirtatious wink, "I reserved the best seats on the train _just for you_, darling."

The statement clearly had its desired effect, for the baroness practically glowed under his attentions, and Maria fought hard to cover a snort in response to the woman's silliness, not to mention the captain's barefaced arrogance. Did he think he could simply flash a smile at any woman within a fifty mile radius and they would become putty in his hands? Thank heavens she was promised to God and was therefore above such nonsense.

Unfortunately for Maria, her snort hadn't gone unnoticed by the Captain, whose patrician eyebrows shot so far into his hairline she thought they might never come down again. Blushing a deep shade of pink, she tried unsuccessfully to disguise the sound with a pitiful cough.

"Something _the matter_, Fraulein?" the captain purred dangerously.

"Oh no sir, not at all," she chirped, "Just a tickle in my throat."

"Is that so?" He enquired with mock fascination, "for a moment I thought _D'Artagnan _had decided to travel with us!"

Maria gave an outraged little moan at the barb - for D'Artagnan was her employer's monstrous horse! Thoroughly affronted, she opened her mouth to defend herself, when suddenly she caught a glimpse of it: the tiniest hint of a mischievous grin pulling at his lips as he turned away from her. It was all she could do not to choke in surprise; the insufferable man was winding her up! Well, she thought smugly, two could play at that game!

"That would make one horse and one _boar _amongst today's passengers, sir," she remarked defiantly before flouncing off in the direction of the children, her chin held high. She'd been sorely tempted to say _pigheaded _boar but, judging by the way the captain's mouth fell open as she made her escape, it seemed her remark had hit home with scorching precision.

"I don't think we're all going to fit," Kurt pointed out the obvious, gesturing to the back seat.

"Right you are, Kurt," the captain approached, ruffling the boy's hair, "I'll be taking Leisl, Friedrich and Louisa first, along with Baroness Shraeder and Uncle Max," then, turning to Maria, he added, "I'll come back for you and the little ones shortly afterward."

"Oh there's no need to take two trips captain," Maria insisted happily, "We could get the bus, right children?"

From somewhere behind them the baroness made a strangled noise as though someone had just suggested they wade through raw sewage.

"Well we might _need _a bus at this rate, just for the rest of Elsa's luggage!" Herr Detweiler pointed out, receiving another deft swipe from the socialite. And for a brief moment, Maria felt like she and the captain were on the same team again, for he sought out her gaze while no one else was watching and rolled his eyes, as if to say_ "sometimes, I feel like we're dealing with nine children, not seven!" _Amused, she bit back a giggle.

"No one is getting the bus," he announced to the group, "except for Franz, who will be meeting us in town to bring the car back home. Now- " he opened the back door of the vehicle and jutted his chin at his eldest children, "last one in has to sit next to uncle Max all the way to France!"

Within a couple of minutes the car was full and Maria was trying desperately not to laugh at the sight of poor Leisl, Louisa, Friedrich and Herr Detweiler squished into the back seat alongside the various shoe boxes and hat cases that Baroness Shraeder had deemed too important to leave behind.

"Right!" The captain declared, clapping his palms against the steering wheel, "let's get going, shall we?" Without further delay he moved to put the key in the ignition when-

"Wait, Georg!" The baroness panicked from her place on the passenger side, "I've forgotten to pack my-"

But the rest of the woman's sentence was rather conveniently drowned out by the sound of the engine roaring to life. And there was no doubt in Maria's mind - as her employer flashed her another one of his barely-perceptible smirks and then sped off down the driveway - that he had turned the key quite deliberately.

* * *

She was staring at him in that peculiar way again, clearly under the false pretence that he was too busy driving to notice her scrutiny. But he _had _noticed. He always did - at least when it was Fraulein Maria doing the staring. In all her guileless innocence, she really had no idea how much she was giving away with a look like that, nor the effect it could have on a man.

But Georg was experienced enough in the ways of the world to recognise what it might mean, for pity's sake - even if she had no idea. His own attraction to the little governess was one thing. After all, it was purely physical - a passing curiosity that would soon run its course, he was sure. But the realisation that Fraulein Maria might actually _return _his little infatuation - well, that was a different thing entirely. A very _dangerous _thing.

He was sorely tempted to ask her what she found so fascinating - just so he could see that delectable blush of hers - but he was loathe to draw attention to it in case she tore her gaze away. The truth was, contrary to how he'd felt on the first day of their acquaintance, he rather liked it when she studied him with such open curiosity - dangerous though it may be. And so he kept his eyes fixed firmly on the road, basking in the acute pleasure that her approval brought him.

It seemed however, that he wasn't the only one to notice the governess's little indiscretion.

"Fraulein Maria, why do you stare at father that way?" Brigitta asked innocently from the back seat.

Jumping out of her daze, the Fraulein turned crimson and hastily diverted her eyes to the countryside, "I wasn't staring!" she protested vehemently, "I was just trying to work out why your father insists on driving so fast."

Clearly amused, the captain quirked an eyebrow in her direction that suggested he'd seen right through her little fib and so she hastened to change the subject as quickly as possible.

"Come children," she turned in her seat, clapping her hands together, "let's practice our French shall we? _Es-tu excité d'aller à Paris_?"

"_Oui_!" The little ones cried with equal enthusiasm.

"_Bon_!" she grinned at them, "_Alors, que ferons-nous quand nous-"_

She stopped short when she noticed the captain was the one now staring at _her_, completely astonished.

"What?" She asked him self-consciously.

"You speak _french_, Fraulein!"

"Oh, just a little," she shrugged modestly, "enough to get by anyhow."

Was it her imagination or was there a hint of admiration in his eyes?

"Well I must say I'm very much impressed!"

He'd meant it as a compliment of course, but it must've come out wrong because her eyebrows knitted at him and she turned to face the road again, her arms crossed defensively over her chest.

"I _did _receive a solid education captain," she bristled, "basic as it may appear to someone like _you_."

_Someone like him_, he pondered, wondering what on Earth she could possibly mean by that. It had sounded rather like an accusation, like venom on her tongue - and he supposed he rather deserved it, given the fact he'd just managed to insult her yet again.

"I'm sorry, Fräulein," he fumbled. Why was it that she always managed to put him firmly in his place? "I didn't mean to patronise you. You just.."

When he didn't finish his sentence, she turned to him sharply, "I just what? Appear uneducated? Am too sheltered to learn?"

Somewhat sheepishly he tugged on his ear, a habit that Maria was starting to find rather endearing, though she'd never admit it to a soul.

"Well actually," he chuckled nervously, his eyes fixed to the road, "I was going to say you just never fail to surprise me!"

He looked at her earnestly then, and Maria simply didn't know what to say. _She_, Maria Rainer, mountain girl and future nun, surprised _him_? The esteemed and decorated Captain Georg Von Trapp of the Austro-Hungarian Imperial Navy? The very notion seemed entirely disarming. As did his gaze.

"Oh," was all she managed, unwilling and unable to look away from him.

"Pray tell me," he said some moments later, breaking the tension as he looked back to the road, "_où as-tu appris à parler français_?"

He knew he was forgiven for his previous faux-pas when she rewarded him with a wide smile.

"She learnt at the abbey father!" Marta answered the question for her governess proudly, "Didn't you know that?"

No - he didn't know that. In fact there were a great number of things he didn't know about this woman, mainly because he'd been too busy barking orders at her or insulting her to bother asking. He made a mental note to remedy that fact immediately because the more he discovered about her, the more he found himself wanting to learn.

"The abbey?" It seemed a rather unlikely place to learn another language, he thought.

"Yes, captain. There was a young french boy at the orphanage we volunteered at who didn't speak a word of German. No one knew who'd left him there or where he'd come from and the poor thing was terrified. So I taught myself to speak to him. It took me a while but it was worth it, in the end."

Georg found himself oddly tongue-tied for a moment, moved by the strength of her compassion - the very same compassion she had shown _his _own children when they'd had no one else to guide them.

"I.. " he floundered humbly, unsure of how to voice the sudden wave of gratitude that overcame him. In the end he settled for the plain and simple truth, "that was a wonderfully selfless thing to do, Fraulein," he hoped she somehow understood he wasn't just talking about the french boy, "You ought to be very proud."

A grave, yet charged silence followed - one in which the softness of his words coiled around her insides like molten honey and left her yearning for an elusive something she didn't understand. The only sound left was that of the children as they talked happily amongst themselves in the back, and Maria was beyond relieved that they were present. She didn't think she would've been able to bear it if she and the captain had been alone.

"What else have you learnt during your time at the abbey?" He asked her some moments later, saving her from her unwanted thoughts.

She pondered his question for a moment.

"That when the lord closes a door, somewhere he opens a window."

"Naturally, naturally.."

"And that we must find out the will of God and do it wholeheartedly."

"Of course, that goes without saying."

"And that the gaps in the stone make for excellent foot holds."

"Absolu- wait, _what_?!"

While neither of them had any way of knowing it yet, in only a matter of months Georg would be using those very same foot holds to sneak a visit with his fiancé during their pre-wedding separation. For now though, he could only gawp at his governess. Had he heard her right?

"Well sometimes it's just faster to get in and out that way, Captain!" She babbled in her own defence, "Much like the trellis beneath my bedroom window."

At that, she clapped a hand over her mouth with eyes blown wide, clearly horrified by her own admission. Behind them, Georg could hear the little ones biting back conspiratorial giggles.

"_My _trellis?"

"Err..."

"Yes father," Gretl interjected excitedly, "Louisa can make it with a whole jar of-" but the girl was instantly silenced by her brother, who began suffering from a rather loud bout of coughing just in the nick of time.

"O-ho, trees, stone walls and now _trellises_, Fraulein? Is there anything you _can't _climb?"

_Perhaps the ladder of your impossible expectations_, she wanted to retort - but instead she said with a shrug, "I'm a firm believer in saving time where possible, sir."

"This coming from someone who's always _late _for everything," he smirked, secretly delighting in the fact that she rolled her eyes at him.

"Not _everything_..."

"_Most _things."

"Well at least I'm on time for the train," she pointed out optimistically, "that counts for something doesn't it?"

"Right you are, Fraulein," he grinned, "right you are."

They did indeed have plenty of time before their train was due to depart. Just enough time, in fact, for Georg to subconsciously ease off the accelerator so that he might enjoy bickering with his outspoken governess just a little while longer.


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: thank you kindly for your thoughts so far!**

* * *

**Chapter 2**

If Maria had been blown away by the sheer luxury of their train journey, it was nothing compared to the wonder that overcame her when they arrived in the hustle and bustle of Gard Du Nord itself. Though far from luxurious, the station was still positively wonderful in Maria's eyes, perhaps even more so than the first class lounge she'd just had the pleasure of experiencing. Mainly because _here_, she felt right at home.

Everywhere she looked, the place was pulsing with activity - crowds of people weaved around each other in their rush to make their trains; young paper boys in flat-caps waved the latest headlines in the air, yelling Parisian news to passers-by; stalls of all kinds lined the perimeter of the building, selling all manner of trinkets, food, materials and souvenirs; conductors waved their locomotives off with a red flag and a sharp blow from their trusty whistle.

Reminded amusedly of the Captain's own penchant for whistles not too long ago, she automatically sought out her employer's gaze, ready to make a quip of some kind at his expense. But it seemed he'd already been watching her, for he knew exactly what she was thinking before she'd even opened her mouth.

"Don't say it," he warned with a pointing finger, though his tone remained playful, "in fact, don't even _think_ it!"

Unable to mask her good humour, Maria let a laugh bubble from her chest before she turned back to the spectacle before her, drinking in the vast array of sights, sounds, colours and smells in her immediate surroundings. Thoroughly enraptured, she remained oblivious to her employer's lingering gaze as he continued to watch her long after their shared repartee.

Georg couldn't help it - there was something about her childlike fascination that struck a chord with him. At first he couldn't place it, but then he realised - with a private chuckle - that it reminded him of the moment he'd found her prancing about his ballroom with an invisible partner. Just like back then, she was utterly captivated by the sheer marvel of what she was seeing - while everyone else around her was in too much of a hurry to even look up. Unlike anyone else he'd met, she had the remarkable ability to look at the world through fresh eyes, seeing the joy and goodness in everything. It was an ability he rather envied.

Dutifully, the children followed behind her, he noticed - awed into an uncharacteristic silence to match their fraulein's. So distracted the troop was by their environment in fact, that mere moments later the governess nearly collided head first with a haughty little Frenchman who happened to be carrying a giant tray of pastries towards one of the nearby stalls. Swerving around her just in the nick of time, the man proceeded to bark a series of french profanities over his shoulder, while the Fraulein gave an undignified little shriek of alarm.

Much to his dismay, Georg let out a low giggle - a sound that did not go unnoticed by Maximilian Detweiler.

"Now, what's so funny?"

Caught out, Georg opened his mouth to form some sort of excuse but was saved from having to do so by a declaration of disgust from Elsa on his other side.

"Can we not find a taxi, darling?" She insisted, wrinkling her nose at the chaos surrounding them, "It was a rather long journey and I'd like to get out of these crowds sooner rather than later. I dare say I can feel a migraine coming on."

"Nothing a little champagne won't fix, Elsa my dear!" Max declared, rubbing his hands together gleefully, "I'll see where that porter's disappeared to with our luggage and then we can be off. The bar awaits!"

With that, the impresario scurried away, and Elsa utilised the opportunity to slip her arm intimately through Georg's.

"I must say darling," she purred, "I'm so pleased you eventually agreed to this trip."

"Hmmm?"

"Well, Paris has always been a favourite of mine as you well know," she continued, "but I have to admit it's been a while since I've enjoyed it in such fine company."

"O-ho, I'm not sure I'd define Max Detweiler as _fine company_, darling," Georg chuckled, noting in the corner of his eye that the children had pulled their helpless Fraulein towards a souvenir stand to admire the trinkets on display. No doubt she'd be buying them each a little something with the modest wages she agreed to take from him.

"That's not who I mean and you know it."

"Oh, you mean me," he clarified, unconvinced of the truth in Elsa's compliment, "_I'm_ fine company."

"But of course!" She laughed elegantly, "And uh, speaking of company," she leant in closer, "I don't think it'd be the worst thing if we were to slip away from our chaperone undetected once or twice while we're here," her grip on his arm tightened, "In the most _romantic_ city in the world."

Hesitating somewhat, Georg gave an awkward chuckle and patted her hand distractedly. The thing of it was, he'd been avoiding Elsa's subtle hints for a while now and he hadn't been able to fathom exactly why. After all, they'd both been married before and so there would be very little scandal in taking her into his bed. Max would surely turn a blind eye if bribed with the promise of wine, and Elsa had already made clear that she wouldn't be opposed to the prospect - quite the contrary, in fact.

And yet, Georg couldn't bring himself to go through with it. He hoped it was a hesitation that would soon pass, most likely attributed to the fact that he'd scarcely been with a woman since Agathe's passing. Luckily though, the sleeping arrangements at the hotel he'd booked provided enough of an excuse to let Elsa down gently this time around.

"As tempting at that may be," he winked, "you know as well as I do that we can't. We'll all be staying on the same floor, the children will be just down the hall."

_The children and their governess…_

Why the Fraulein had to pop into his head at that precise moment, he had no idea - but his blood ran cold all the same.

"No, of course, you're right," Elsa flustered, clearly embarrassed by the rebuff, "how silly of me."

Feeling dismally awkward, Georg fought to reassure her.

"You know under any other circumstances-"

"Say no more, Georg," she smiled graciously, having recovered her effortless elegance, "I completely understand. But you can make it up to me soon enough, I hope."

With a sigh of relief, he flashed her a flirtatious half grin, "oh, consider it a promise, my dear."

* * *

Not even an hour later, Georg was kicking himself for relying on the sleeping arrangements as an excuse for propriety, because he ended up getting a little more than he bargained for.

"What seems to be the hold up, darling?" Elsa enquired impatiently from somewhere behind him, but he silenced her with a wave of the hand and resumed his lengthy argument with the hotel manager in rapid French.

"I didn't pay such an extortionate amount of money only to be given less than I expected," he spat across the reception desk, already hating how petulant he sounded, even to his own ears. The truth was, the accommodation they'd been given was beyond magnificent, stretching across an entire floor of its own in fact. But it was the bedrooms that posed a problem. Elsa especially was not best pleased.

"I'm terribly sorry monsieur, but I'm afraid it's the only suite we have that can accommodate all eleven of you together."

"And what about your sister hotel?" Max interjected over Georg's shoulder, "It's just round the corner from here isn't it?"

"I'm afraid she's fully booked, monsieur."

A few feet away, Maria watched as the captain pinched the bridge of his nose in vexation, and she had to fight hard to hide her own growing impatience. How long was this going to take? She and the children had been waiting around in the lobby for quite some time now, while _he_ chose to spar back and forth with the manager, wasting precious minutes that could otherwise be spent exploring Paris.

Really, she couldn't understand what he was making such a big fuss about! The suite of rooms they'd been taken to by a kind-faced young bellboy upon arrival had not only been fit for purpose, it was the most extravagant accommodation Maria had ever laid eyes on! The main living space was surely bigger than the courtyard back at Nonnberg Abbey, and everywhere she'd looked there'd been luxury and grandeur. From the mighty chandelier that hung from the ceiling, to the opulent sofas and giant french doors that spanned the length of the room, to the grand piano that sat in the far corner, to the silverware that shone atop the dining table.

At opposite sides of the vast living space there had also been two corridors that Maria assumed led to an endless number of additional bedrooms, one to the left and one to the right. Bigger still was the enormous balcony beyond the french doors, offering unparalleled views of the city below. Indeed, she'd never seen such splendour in all her twenty six years on earth, and most likely never would again. Why then, was the captain so displeased?

It'd all started with the baroness...

"_Well this just won't do, Georg," baroness Shraeder declared, reappearing from the corridor of bedrooms on the left._

_Everyone else paused in their exploration of the suite to find out what could possibly be wrong with their new haven. _

"_Why ever not darling?"_

"_Well the master suites are through here," she gestured back down the hallway she'd just come from, "but so are all the bedrooms for the children."_

_The captain stared at her blankly, and Maria too failed to understand the woman's point at first. At their blank expressions, the baroness gave an impatient huff._

"_And over there," she gestured to the opposite corridor, "there are two other bedrooms, both of which are more... _simplistic_, shall we say."_

_The captain still failed to catch on, but Maria understood all too well what the baroness was getting at. Clearly one side of the suite was meant to cater for the family, with a vast number of opulent rooms to choose from - while the other side, slightly more modest in nature, was meant to cater for the _help_. The problem was, this otherwise perfectly acceptable arrangement didn't suit _this _particular family dynamic - for the baroness would've preferred to keep the help and her charges on one side of the suite, leaving the esteemed guests to enjoy the other side. _

_This apparently had not occurred to the _head _of said family._

"_I'm afraid I don't follow, Elsa."_

"_Well, I was under the impression that surely Fraulein Maria would be sharing her living space with the children and we - that is, you and I—"_

"_Ahem!" Herr Detweiler declared pointedly._

"_\- and Max, would be sharing..." she trailed off here while clearly trying to come up with a diplomatic enough word so as not to offend the help, "... the _other _quarters."_

_Taking a moment to glance at both corridors from left to right, the Captain eventually gave a non-committal shrug. _

"_Well I suppose Max and I will have to take the two bedrooms to the right while you, Fraulein Maria and the children take the bedrooms on the left."_

_The baroness simply stared at him as though he'd suggested she sleep amongst wild pigs. _

"_Could we possibly discuss this in private for a moment please darling?" She simpered, her eyes darting over to the bell boy, the governess, the children and the impresario, all of whom had been watching the exchange with undisguised nosiness. _

_With a barely restrained sigh, the captain nodded his ascent and the two of them disappeared behind a nearby door. For several minutes thereafter, the only sound that could be heard was a series of harsh mutterings while the rest of the party exchanged awkward looks amongst themselves. When the captain finally re-emerged, he looked even more disgruntled than the time Maria had sat on a pine cone at the dinner table._

"_Would you _please_ be so kind," he gritted to the bewildered bellboy, "as to take me directly to the hotel's manager?"_

And so here they were, watching the minutes tick by on the majestic grandfather clock in the hotel's lobby while her employer tried in vain to find a solution that would suit all parties. Maria could sense his growing frustration - she imagined he was very much accustomed to always getting his own way! What remained unclear however, was whether he was more annoyed with the staff, or with his intended.

"It's no use," he eventually conceded several minutes later, rejoining the group while shooting daggers over his shoulder at the hotel manager, "there's nothing they can do about the rooms."

"But Georg-"

Whichever protest was waiting on the baroness' lips, it was immediately silenced by the thunderous look the captain shot her.

"We will simply have to make do with the _finest_ floor they have to offer, _inadequate_ though it may be," he remarked sardonically - and if Maria didn't know any better she could've sworn she'd caught the baroness blushing.

* * *

Some time later they were all settled into their respective rooms, the baroness having chosen to stay in the more modest quarters next to Herr Detweiler - as far away from the children as was humanly possible. She was in a terrible sulk about it, particularly with the impresario, who'd chosen to take his chaperoning duties extremely seriously and had point-blank refused to let the captain and the baroness share the same quarters.

This meant that, by some bizarre stroke of divine intervention, Maria had been given one of the most opulent rooms on the family side of the suite, so that she could be close to her charges should they need her in the night. What it _also _meant however, was that the captain was forced to take the only remaining room a few doors down from hers - a prospect she didn't dare dwell on for too long. While separated by several walls and an entire troop of children, it still seemed far too close for her peace of mind.

Allowing herself the small transgression of brooding about her employer for a moment, she set about unpacking the rest of her belongings when-

"It must make quite a change from your postulant's cell."

Abandoning her carpet bag, she turned to find the very subject of her thoughts leaning casually in the open doorway, his arms knitted over his chest and one long leg crossed over the other as he watched her intently. The mischief in his eyes caught her breath for a moment, "Even your room back in Aigen for that matter!"

He was teasing her of course, but it only made her feel all the more burdensome.

"Oh but I feel _terrible_ sir! The baroness-"

"Forget the baroness," he dismissed her concern with an impatient wave of his hand, stepping inside the room absentmindedly, "she'll get over it soon enough I should think."

Maria stiffened as he floated about the place distractedly, pausing to study what appeared to be a gold plated Eiffel Tower ornament that he found sitting atop her vanity table. His sudden proximity made her uncharacteristically self-conscious - the fact that he was here in her private domain, apparently making himself quite at home. But then again, the door was wide open and the children were running up and down the corridor popping their heads in occasionally - so she supposed they were far from being alone. She just hoped he couldn't read her mind!

"This all just seems far too much for only one person," she protested, looking around the huge bedroom with its high ceilings, plush carpets and massive four-poster bed.

"Yes, sickeningly _over the top _isn't it," he agreed, holding up the garish Eiffel Tower ornament for emphasis before dumping it back on the vanity with a look of disdain, "Often I wonder if I wouldn't have preferred my cramped u-boat on the Adriatic!"

Much to Georg's chagrin, the governess raised a disbelieving eyebrow, and the implication stung. _She thinks I'm nothing more than a pompous baron who's too attached to his creature comforts,_ he thought sourly. He was sorely tempted to correct her with a firm reminder that he was first and foremost a _sailor_, but he decided to hold his tongue. Her opinion ought not to matter to him in the slightest - and besides, he was irrevocably distracted at that precise moment by a flash of something unmistakably delicate and lacy lying on full display amidst the garments strewn haphazardly across her bed. Surely it couldn't be... where the _hell_ was the boxy nightgown?

"I'm not sure the baroness would approve, sir."

"Wh.. what?!" he choked, tearing his eyes away from her garments in a panic.

"Staying in a cramped u-boat," the Fraulein clarified, clearly oblivious as to where his attentions had been fixed, "I can't imagine the baroness would like that very much."

"Oh!" he breathed in relief, ignoring the fact that he could feel his ears turning pink, "no...no, I imagine she wouldn't!" Regaining his composure, he moved towards the safety of the window, as far away from her frilly belongings as possible, "And I wager neither would Max! He could never stand being out on the open ocean, you know. Terrible at following simple instructions too, and not only during thunderstorms!"

Why was he babbling away like a complete cretin? If he had any common sense at all, he would excuse himself from her company immediately and make a hasty exit, before anyone could catch—

"_There _you are, Georg!" with impeccable timing, Max Detweiler appeared in the doorway, almost as if his fiendish little ears had been burning. Rocking back and forth smugly on his heels, he was about to make some kind of witty remark - when suddenly his gaze fell upon the very same collection of delicate garments that had arrested Georg's attention only moments ago. At first the impresario frowned in confusion, but then comprehension dawned and his face split into a positively gleeful grin.

"Oh hohoho!"

"Max.." Georg warned, but of course his command went entirely unheeded.

"Helping our dear governess unpack, I see!" the impresario guffawed with delight, "I suppose you always _were_ rather talented when it came to handling women's-"

"Max!"

But much to Georg's immense dismay, the Fraulein was already following Max's eyeline, her expression that of complete bewilderment - until the inevitable moment when she spotted the source of the man's amusement. With a scandalised little shriek, she lunged for the bed, throwing herself unceremoniously on top of it to obstruct the view of her belongings. Unfortunately though, she made for a comical sight, and as Max began to double over with laughter, Georg was helpless to stop the low giggle that escaped his own lips.

The little governess caught his snicker, and he was fairly certain the blazing blue glare she shot him would hold his imagination hostage for the rest of the evening.

* * *

**A/N: When I picture the hotel suite in my head I always think of the hotel room in Pretty Woman, if anyone knows the film. (God knows why, because I can't exactly imagine Maria strutting down Hollywood Boulevard in manner of Julia Roberts while Georg rocks up in his Lotus. But who knows - maybe I've just found some new story inspo! Ha) **


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: When I was in Paris a few weeks ago the weather was mad hot and everyone was doing all they could to cool down. Hence this chapter was born. Also, the opening dialogue was inspired by a scene in The Great Gatsby.**

* * *

**chapter 3**

Maria awoke in the plushness of her magnificent four-poster bed and nearly forgot where she was. It was only when the memories of their journey the previous day came flitting back into her mind that she sat bolt upright and cast her eyes about the room to make sure she hadn't dreamt the whole thing. But no - it'd all been real. The proof was in the lavish vanity table with the garish Eiffel Tower ornament atop it, and the huge crystal lamp in the corner of the room, and the magnificent wardrobe that towered above her. It was in the gigantic bathtub with its golden clawed feet and the matching mirror that hung majestically above the sink in the bathroom. Everywhere she looked there was something that made her want to pinch herself, for surely it couldn't possibly be happening to her.

Where normally she would've savoured a lie-in, instead she eagerly threw back the covers and hurried to the drapes so she could greet the morning. Their late arrival the previous day meant she was yet to see Paris up close and she longed to get out into the city to discover the adventure of it all.

The second she pulled the drapes back and threw open the french doors however, she was hit by a wave of stifling heat. The sun was barely over the horizon and yet the city was bathed in a scorching furnace that promised only to grow more intense as the day went on. And sure enough, by 9am there were reports on the wire that it would be the hottest day in Paris on record, with warnings to stay indoors wherever possible.

"Open another window," Louisa whined, staring enviously at the baroness who was cooling herself down with a dainty handheld fan.

"There aren't any more to open," Herr Detweiler griped, collapsing into an uncomfortable heap on the nearest sofa.

"Then telephone downstairs and ask them for an axe!"

"Will you forget about the heat!" Friedrich snapped, "You make it worse by crabbing about it."

"We could sing?" Gretl piped up hopefully, "to take our minds off it."

"It's too hot to sing," Kurt grunted, moving away from the french doors, which were flung as wide open as possible to try and ease the stifling heat in the lounge. The air was so dry not even the chirp of a bird could be heard outside.

"Perhaps we could take refuge in the bar?" Baroness Shraeder suggested, and Maria noticed Herr Detweiler's ears pricking up hopefully.

"The bar's closed, I already checked."

This particularly disappointing revelation came from the captain who, up until that moment, had been so unnervingly quiet that Maria might have forgotten he was even there, if it weren't for the fact that she was always so aware of him. Sitting in one of the oversized armchairs in the corner of the room, he was resting his chin on steepled fingers, his eyes closed with subtle impatience. If she thought the blistering temperature might've forced him to shed a layer or two however, she'd thought wrong, for he was in his usual starched jacket and tie.

And though he was clearly uncomfortable - as could be seen in the slight furrow of his brow - he was going to great lengths to try and conceal his displeasure. Indeed, to anyone who looked at him, he most likely appeared as unflappable and impeccably groomed as ever. But Maria knew him better by now. She could see it in his eyes. _Who'd have thought it_, she smiled inwardly to herself, _this seasoned sailor doesn't fair well in the heat!_

With a sulky huff, Herr Detweiler flopped back down against the cushions, "why in God's name would they close the bar on a day like this!"

"They've barely anything left in stock," the captain sighed, finally opening his eyes and straightening up a little, tugging absentmindedly at his collar, "Traffic into the city is being restricted, so the delivery trucks haven't shown up."

"Selfish swine," the impresario muttered under his breath, resting a dramatic forearm against his brow.

"I'll ring for some ice," the baroness declared, reaching for the phone and managing to look completely unaffected in doing so, while everybody else melted into puddles around her.

When the red faced bellboy finally appeared some minutes later with a bucket of rapidly diminishing ice cubes, they all leapt for it like gannets before he'd even managed to place it down upon the table. Unlike Herr Detweiler though, Maria waited until all the children had gotten a piece before she helped herself.

It was sheer bliss, when the cool cube first connected with the skin of her brow. Sighing in relief she allowed her eyes to flutter closed for a moment, moving the ice over her jaw and neck as droplets of cold water sluiced down her wrist. It melted quickly and so she reached for another one, this time pressing it to her parched lips. Toying with the cube absentmindedly, she popped it in and out of her mouth, curling her tongue around it and sucking gently until—

"_Stop that_."

It took her a good few moments to realise the hissed command had come from her employer, who was staring at her in the most peculiar manner. At first she thought maybe she'd imagined it but apparently everybody else had heard it too because all heads in the room had swivelled in the direction of the captain. The man was as still as a statue for a moment - and it seemed he was just as surprised as everyone else to have heard the words pass his lips, because he looked rather like he wanted to stuff them back into his mouth.

"Oh I'm sorry sir, did you want some?" Maria offered him the bucket of ice helpfully, but he looked at her as though she'd just tried to speak to him in Japanese.

"Wh-what?" He asked distractedly, spots of colour appearing high on his cheeks. She was about to repeat the question, when she was interrupted by Herr Detweiler, who'd taken one look at his friend and had suddenly begun choking back giggles as though he'd just become privy to some kind of private joke.

"Oh, he _wants some _alright, Fraulein!" the impresario guffawed fiendishly, "I wager he wants it very much!"

"Max!" the captain barked angrily, receiving only louder chortles by way of response.

Maria looked between the two men, completely baffled by their odd behaviour - perhaps the heat had finally sent them both off the rails? And it seemed she wasn't the only one to think so, because the baroness's perfectly shaped eyebrows were drawn together in a frown as well.

"Uh... what I _mean_, Fraulein.." the captain stammered gruffly, "is that you could choke doing something like that. And then you'd be no use to anyone."

"Yes!" Herr Detweiler announced mischievously, "and trust me Fraulein, you don't want him performing the Heimlich manoeuvre on you in his current state!"

"Er.. _current state_?" Baroness Shraeder interjected, asking the question Maria had been about to voice herself.

"Uncomfortably _hot_, Elsa," the impresario replied innocently, "what else could I possibly mean?"

Maria was certain she had absolutely no idea!

"You _do_ look a little flushed, Georg," the baroness frowned in concern, "would you like to borrow my fan?"

"No, thank you Elsa," the captain gritted - and if Maria didn't know any better she could've sworn his ears had turned pink. What on earth was going on?

"You really do look like you could use some ice, old man," Herr Detweiler piped up gleefully, "the whole bucket, in fact."

"I'm fine, Max!"

"Or we could try singing?" Gretl suggested again, "it really will take our minds off it!"

"I told you," griped her youngest brother, "it's too hot to sing!"

"It's too hot to do _anything_!"

Before anyone else had a chance to throw their two cents in, the captain launched to his feet, apparently unable to bear it anymore, "That's _it_!" he snapped with finality, "We're going out."

"Out?!" the impresario cried, "But it must be a hundred degrees out there!"

"I've thought of a way we might be able to cool off."

Herr Detweiler smirked again and was clearly about to make some kind of witty retort that would no doubt be lost on Maria, when—

"Not another word out of you, Max!" the captain glowered murderously, "or I swear to God, you'll end up in the Seine."

* * *

"Where are you taking us, father?" Louisa whinged, shielding her eyes from the heat of the sun.

"You'll see," the captain grinned, "come on, we're nearly there."

He weaved them all through the busy crowds and Maria fought to keep up with his long strides, pulling Marta and Gretl along with her. It was only when the eldest children gasped in delight that she even managed to look up from the street. Instantly she understood their obvious excitement: there, visible through a break in the trees that lined the pavement,was the tip of the Eiffel Tower.

"Marvellous!" Herr Detweiler beamed, squinting up at the architectural masterpiece, "but how exactly is the Eiffel Tower supposed to cool us down, Georg?"

"I'm so glad you asked, Max," the captain smirked, looking upon his brood and clearly savouring their delight, "if my memory serves me correctly, there should be a magnificent fountain in the gardens beneath the tower. You each have permission to go for a quick dip."

"Really?!"

"Really," he winked, "though I'd hurry, before I come to my senses!"

With a series of hurrahs, the Von Trapp brood took off in the direction of the landmark, and within ten minutes they were all splashing about happily in the huge fountain, while Maria dangled her feet in from the sidelines. It was a marvel really, the fact that the very same man who'd once condemned her for allowing his children to climb trees was now letting them skip about like urchins in front of Paris' most famous landmark! How times had changed.

Not quite as surprisingly, frolicking in the local waterworks didn't much appeal to the baroness, who instead chose to sit under the shade of a nearby cafe's umbrella with Herr Detweiler, smoking a cigarette. If Maria thought the captain might've kept them company however, she'd thought wrong, for he stood on the grass near the water instead, laughing and calling out to the children as they played.

"Papa, come and join us!" a little voice squealed from amidst the chaos - and Maria could only chuckle at the very idea. There was more chance of Sister Berthe eloping with a lost love than there was of Captain Georg Von Trapp being caught dead splashing about in—

"Very well, Schatzi."

She nearly choked on her own breath when he began to shed his shoes and socks. Astonished, she watched as he tossed them aside carelessly and rolled up his trouser legs, exposing formidable calves peppered with dark hair. Swallowing hard, she cast her eyes heavenward. _Oh God, please __don't do this_, she thought to herself, disturbed by thoughts of which other garments might join his shoes. Luckily for her sanity though, he stopped at his knees, plonked himself down beside her and swung his legs over the edge, dangling his feet in the fountain's cool water. Even more unsettling was his small groan of relief.

"Ahh that's better," he sighed in bliss, leaning back and resting his palms on the grass behind them, watching his brood mess about happily, "You know, I used to do this as a child myself. Right here in this very fountain."

"Father!" Marta interrupted, launching herself through the water and straight into her papa's lap. If he was bothered by the water marks on his suit though, he certainly didn't show it. Much to Maria's astonishment, he pulled the girl into his embrace with a playful growl instead, before she managed to wriggle free, rejoining her siblings.

Who in God's name was this boyish imposter? Maria wondered, unable to mask her fascination. His feet stirred the water in lazy circles while he waited for her to say something, but she could form no words. The contrast was a disturbing one: his jacket and tie remained firmly in place, even despite the heat - which she suspected had something to do with keeping up appearances in public - but his eyes danced with a spiritedness that reminded her all too much of Kurt. When the children did something that made him laugh, she noticed he even had _dimples_.

"So what do you make of the Eiffel Tower, Fraulein?" he pressed when still she failed to speak.

"Err..." She floundered, shielding her face from the sun as she gazed up at the magnificent towering structure that seemed to disappear into the sky. All she saw however, were dimpled smiles behind her eyelids, "it's very large," she observed stupidly, turning back to him.

He looked momentarily taken aback by her bizarre response, before giving a low chuckle, "Yes, the views from the top really are magnificent. Perhaps when the weather cools off, we can venture up there."

"I'm sure the children would love that, sir."

At that precise moment, the natural sway of the water made their legs graze featherlight against one another, but she felt it as intensely as if she'd been burned by an open flame. The captain didn't seem to notice a thing, but the minor touch sent a shock up Maria's calf and throughout the rest of her body, until the corners of her jaw clamped shut. _Oh help_!

"Are you alright, Fraulein?"

"Fabulous, thank you captain," she managed to squeak, her mutinous eyes travelling to the source of that burning, terrifying sensation. She found it in the masculine shape of his ankle, floating innocently next to hers. How was it possible for such a harmless body part to cause her such distress?

"It happened in the war."

"What?" She rasped, realising she'd been caught staring again.

"The scar," he clarified, lifting his left foot out of the water before plonking it back in again, "I got it during the war."

It was only then that she noticed his left calf and shin were marred with scar tissue that twisted and feathered around one side. Clearly he'd mistaken her wandering gaze for innocent curiosity.

"How?" She heard herself asking - and despite being completely out of sorts, she was genuinely curious to know.

When he spoke again, his voice was calm, but Maria noticed his throat was working furiously to try and keep it that way, "one of my men was caught under debris after the base came under fire. I, uh.. I tried to free him. But the flames got there first."

Maria was momentarily shocked into silence. Somehow, somewhere along the way, she'd naively convinced herself that the mighty captain Georg von Trapp was simply invincible. Perhaps it was because of the pride and confidence with which he always carried himself, or maybe it was the many tales of bravery she'd heard about him from the children. In any event, the fact that he was a man as vulnerable as any other ought not to have shocked her. But as it was, the evidence of his past horrors made her chest constrict.

"Is it merely in France or in _all _foreign countries that you're so uncharacteristically quiet, Fraulein?" he grinned, nudging her slightly with his elbow.

"I'm sorry, sir," she flustered, reaching absentmindedly for her throat that suddenly burned with the threat of tears, "I just.. I can't even imagine..."

"Yes, well," he cleared his own throat gravely, "war is a nasty business. I was one of the lucky ones."

"_No__w _I know why you were decorated by the emperor so many times!" she blurted out, feeling her face burn pink when he laughed openly.

"I see my children have been entertaining you with tales of my.. accomplishments!" he chuckled, not without a good dose of sarcasm.

"The boys know all your medals by heart," she confessed, "You're their biggest champion, you know."

"My medals," he scoffed bitterly, "They're nothing but lumps of metal and ribbon, Fraulein, as honoured as I was to receive them at the time. The men who died though. _They're _the real heroes. They sacrificed themselves while I was at home, being nursed back to health by my wife."

It was the first time he'd ever mentioned the late baroness Von Trapp to Maria, even in passing - and she suddenly felt as though he'd let her in on some private and intimate secret. A long silence followed, one in which they were both lost to their thoughts.

"Does it hurt?" she eventually asked him, almost fearing the answer.

Pensively, the captain looked to his children, a wistful smile pulling at his lips as he watched them play, "not anymore," he murmured meaningfully.

It was no longer clear to Maria whether they were talking about the scar tissue or something else, and the prospect left her wanting to wrap a pair of comforting arms around Georg Von Trapp. He'd suffered a broken heart, that much was obvious. But a man like him - a leader, a protector, a hero - as he'd so often been described to her - simply _couldn't _be hurt, could he? Yet the proof was plain for her to see: he was made of flesh and bone and sorrow and pain just like any other man.

He'd experienced so much tragedy in his life and yet he locked it all away behind a mask of humility and supposed indifference. His scar however, he could no longer hide - exposed as it was under the Parisian sun. And yet she couldn't deny he was still magnificent - perhaps even more so, now that she knew a little more of the man beneath the armour.

* * *

**A/N: I appreciate this story is a slow burner and a little more subtle than some of my others, so thanks for sticking with me. I'm trying to capture all the nice 'in between' somewhere post-Edelweiss but pre-party. It's proving a challenge!**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: thanks for your kind words/follows/favourites. There's a very loose nod to one of my other stories in this chapter, just in case you recognise it.**

* * *

**Chapter 4**

The next morning they were blessed with another glorious bout of sunshine but a far cooler temperature, and the city seemed to glow rich and warm with the tempting pull of adventure. Maria simply itched to burst through the lobby doors and throw herself into the vibrancy and liveliness of it all. Of course, she would have to rein in her excitement, at least a little, because she had seven charges and an occasionally short-tempered employer to think of. The captain though, seemed to have woken in a good mood to rival that of the previous day - but with one very alarming distinction: he'd decided to abandon his usual tie and jacket in favour of an open collar.

It should've been a completely _insignificant _detail, and yet Maria noticed the subtle change in his appearance the second he walked into the lounge. Swanning about the place with a cup of coffee in one hand and a newspaper in the other, he was more relaxed than she ever would've thought possible. His sleeves were rolled to the elbow, his hair was not as immaculately combed as usual... he wasn't even wearing shoes! Of course, he'd taken his footwear off the previous day when he'd paddled in the fountain but that had been different. Now, his _entire demeanour _had changed - and the little patch of visible skin at the base of his throat, bronzed and lightly peppered with hair, was suddenly a point of fascination for Maria.

Quite without warning, he looked up from the headlines then and spotted her sitting there watching him, "Ah. Good morning, Fraulein!" He folded up the paper and threw it carelessly atop the nearest chair, "The children are nearly ready I take it?"

"Where is your jacket?" She blurted stupidly, immediately wishing she could stuff the embarrassing words back down her throat. But he only chuckled low at her and looked down at himself critically.

"You don't approve?"

"Well I just assumed you were born sewn into one!" she admitted honestly, nearly clapping a hand over her own mouth to stop the flow of impertinent statements. If he was offended by her brazen response though, he didn't show it. In fact, he quirked an amused eyebrow instead.

"Believe it or not Fraulein, I _do_ undress at the end of every day, just like the rest of the mere mortals."

Maria swallowed as a flurry of unwanted images flitted through her head.

"Besides, as I discovered yesterday it's far too hot to be galavanting around Paris in a suit, even now that it's milder," he griped, "And don't fret, my shoes are around here somewhere too," he scanned the room with his eyes impatiently before discovering his prize lying neatly beside the suite's front door, "ah! There they are."

He crossed the lounge in a flash and shoved his feet into them, kneeling elegantly to tie the laces while Maria watched the gentle flick and twist of his long fingers, transfixed. It seemed the boyish imposter from the previous afternoon was here to stay! Parisian summertime apparently agreed with Georg Von Trapp.

"Good morning tout le monde!" Herr Detweiler appeared from the right corridor, sporting an outfit equally as casual as the captain's. Strangely enough though, the sight of the impresario's open collar and rolled sleeves did absolutely nothing to impact upon Maria's state of mind.

"Decided to join the land of the living, Max!" the captain bated, sweeping back a stubborn lock of hair that had fallen onto his forehead while tying his laces. Maria's own fingers tingled curiously.

"Well, the promise of a morning shopping spree was enough to pull Elsa and I from our beauty sleep!" The impresario beamed, snatching a croissant from a nearby plate.

"Is that so?" the captain's eyes narrowed, "And uh.. _what_, exactly, are we shopping for?"

At that precise moment, the baroness chose to make an entrance, looking regal as ever in a peach blouse and light skirt, "outfits for the opera of course, Georg - we only have two days to find something! And of course, we all need our pieces for the party!"

"Shopping with seven children?" Herr Detweiler exclaimed with a knowing chuckle, "You're a braver soul than I my dear!"

"Oh the children won't be coming, darling," the baroness tittered, as though the very idea was simply hilarious, "they can go off with their Fraulein and _we'll _choose their party garments for them, isn't that right Georg? You have their measurements, I presume?"

Though the baroness had an annoying habit of talking about Maria as if she wasn't there, this time Maria found that she didn't mind too much. In truth, she was just relieved the children had been spared the shopping trip, for it meant that she wouldn't have to go either!

"Well," the captain conceded, "it appears to be all arranged, doesn't it!"

* * *

When they finally _did _leave the hotel, Herr Detweiler, the baroness and the captain went one way, while Maria and the children went another, with the promise of meeting at the Louvre museum later that afternoon. With the sun high in the sky, the whole city exuded a blissful _Je ne sais quoi _atmosphere - people spilled out onto the streets from the cafes and bistros, enjoying a lazy drink and a cigarette with friends. Children kicked a ball about in any patch of greenery they could find, while others took solace in reading a good book near the banks of the Seine.

Of course, Georg von Trapp was able to enjoy none of these things, because he was trapped inside a stuffy salon choosing from a vast array of seemingly identical fabrics.

"What about this one, darling?"

"Hmm?"

The baroness stepped in front of him in a dazzling red number, only slightly different to the one she'd modelled for him five minutes prior.

"For the opera, not the party," she clarified, smoothing her hands down the skirt experimentally, "I think I'll take that gold one back for the party instead."

"Hmm. Yes, the gold."

"I want to make a lasting impression, you see."

"Indeed."

The truth was, Georg was hardly listening. After having been shown _fifteen _different dresses, he'd long since given up feigning interest and had instead begun to muse about what his children might be up to. No doubt their governess would be getting them into all sorts of mischief, singing at the top of her lungs outside Notre Dame or skipping merrily down the riverbank - perhaps even falling in! At least he was safe in the knowledge that they wouldn't be roaming about Paris dressed up in nothing but some old drapes! There weren't many trees around for the Fraulein to climb either, though he wouldn't put it past her to try ascending the Eiffel Tower in a similar manner to his damned trellis-

"What's so amusing, Georg?"

Forced back into the room by Elsa's question, he realised all too late that he had a stupid grin plastered across his face. Immediately he sat up a little straighter and replaced it with the usual scowl.

"I was smiling at your choice of dress Elsa darling, you look breathtaking as usual."

Where normally such flattery would've worked, instead Elsa looked thoroughly unimpressed.

"You said that about the last one."

He sighed, rubbing his ear, "Well the last one _did _look awfully similar..."

"Never take a man shopping, Elsa!" Max crowed from his position in front of the mirror, while a haughty little french tailor busied himself with sticking pins in the impresario's tuxedo, "unless, of course, that man is _me_!"

"Because you've been such a thorough help so far, Max?" Georg retorted sarcastically.

"I helped select the children's outfits!" the impresario batted back defensively, "you could at least be grateful for that!"

"As much as I hate to admit it, you _do _have a point," Georg grumbled, "I wager they'll be the finest looking children at the opera."

"The opera?" Elsa questioned, her perfect eyebrows knitting in confusion, "I thought the children's clothes were for the _party_. Back in Salzburg?"

"Yes, they are," Georg clarified, "But they'll be ideal for the Palais Garnier too."

"I had no idea you wanted the _children _to come to the opera..."

"Yes, well. I think they ought to see one while we're here, don't you? Their musical education has been sorely neglected up until recently," _at least, before a certain young governess came along_, he mused inwardly, "And besides, their mother loved the opera."

"It's just..." Elsa hesitated, "I'm not sure whether it's _appropriate _for children..."

"It is appropriate for _my _children," came his terse reply, and the subtle message was clearly understood because Elsa chose to say no more on the matter.

"Perhaps I'll try the green one on again..." she muttered to herself before disappearing behind yet another curtain. Georg fought to pinch the bridge of his nose. It was going to be a very long morning.

* * *

By the time both parties reunited at the Louvre, Maria and the children were positively reeling from the excitement of their morning explorations, while the captain's good mood had apparently vanished along with the summer breeze. With a heavy scowl and lips pressed into a thin line, he was clutching several large shopping bags in his fists, which he used to bat other tourists out of his way, growling like a bear all the while. Floating along beside him was the baroness who, Maria noticed, carried no bags whatsoever, while Herr Detweiler exerted himself with carrying only one.

"There best be a cloakroom for storing all this," the captain sulked, shaking his hoard impatiently at Maria while they queued for tickets, "or I'll dump the lot of it in the river!"

Stifling a grin, Maria tried to hide her amusement, but it was too late.

"What, may I ask, is so amusing?"

At first she said nothing, but he was apparently in no mood to let it drop.

"Well?"

"It's just..." she bit back a laugh, but to no avail, "you don't look _at all _like a sea captain, sir."

He looked momentarily stunned, before the scowl returned, "You don't know what it's like in those couturiers, Fraulein!" he hissed, "_Endless _reels of seemingly identical fabrics, women swanning around making demands of you, and all of it just to load me up like a donkey when we're finally finished!"

Maria only rolled her eyes and wordlessly reached for some of the bags, taking them off his hands to help ease the load. She expected him to protest, but he simply looked at her in surprise before the scowl on his face eventually softened. When he spoke again, his tone was warm with humility.

"Thank you, Fraulein.."

If she didn't know any better, she could've sworn the form of address sounded more like an endearment, gentle as his voice was - and it made the skin of her fingers scorch where they'd brushed against his only moments earlier. As was custom, she ignored it.

"You're more than welcome, sir."

Some time later, she found herself studying the Mona Lisa with the children by her side, trying to focus on the subtle brushstrokes, rather than the perplexing fluttering sensation that kept sweeping across her belly whenever her thoughts strayed in the wrong direction.

"It's a lot smaller than I expected," Brigitta observed, tilting her head critically at the canvas.

"I'm not impressed," Louisa griped, sounding so much like her father that the bizarre fluttering licked at Maria's stomach again, "I'm not sure what all the fuss is about."

"It's one of the most famous paintings in the world, Louisa," her eldest sister pointed out knowingly, "you should take the time to appreciate it."

"Come on," Kurt beckoned, clearly as unimpressed as his siblings, "let's see what's next door instead."

Maria didn't follow them as they wandered off, but instead chose to ponder over the woman in Da Vinci's painting a little longer. Her knowing eyes seemed to pierce into Maria's very soul. Could she see the torment harboured there, Maria wondered? Could she tell that doubt and confusion lay buried underneath the surface? Did she suspect there were thoughts and feelings that Maria didn't quite understand?

She couldn't decide whether the Mona Lisa's expression was a comfort or a taunt, but a lump began to form in her throat just the same. Swallowing hard, she backed out of the room and rounded another corner only to abruptly wish she hadn't, for it was to discover a vast space filled with sculptures of male nudes - smooth cuts of marble that formed chiselled shoulders, sculpted arms, taught abdomens - some with parts missing, some very much whole.

A vivid blush painted her cheeks and her first instinct was to move away, but then she quickly censored herself for such a silly reaction. There was nothing to be embarrassed about after all, and there was certainly no harm in studying mere stone replicas of God's creation. Or at least, that's what she told herself, as her eyes roamed about the room with burning curiosity. Surely it wouldn't be a crime if she were to have a quick look around? The children would be just fine on their own for a few minutes.

Feeling somewhat wicked but convincing herself that her reservations were entirely unfounded, she threw a hurried look over her shoulder to make sure no one was about to witness her little indiscretion. Satisfied that she was very much alone, she began to float among the statues, peering up at the forms with childlike fascination. They made for imposing figures with their unfeeling eyes and powerful bodies. Some were posing mid-battle cry, with weapons raised high above their heads and loincloths draped elegantly around their middles. But it was the ones with _nothing _to protect their modesty that held her most spellbound.

While she wasn't _completely _clueless about the male anatomy, she'd never seen a grown man in his most natural form - and probably never would, given her choice of vocation. Still, it didn't prevent her from being _curious _about such things, and when she stumbled across a ten-foot tall Herculean hero towering over her in all his marble glory, her legs seemed to develop a will of their own and moved her closer for a more thorough inspection.

Did all men look like that when they were unclothed, she wondered. The marble copies came in various different shapes and sizes, no two... _appendages _were the same. But one thing was for certain: they were all very _vivid _in their detailing. Was it the same with real flesh and blood men, she asked herself as she scrutinised the Herculean hero's midriff. The kind of men she encountered every day. Men like—

"The resemblance really _is _uncanny," came a familiar male voice from behind her, piercing her reverie. Utterly aghast, Maria spun around on the spot so quickly that she nearly lost her balance and sent herself staggering into the waiting arms of the marble protagonist behind her.

"Wh.. _what_?!" She fairly shrieked.

"Though of course-" the captain chuckled, seemingly oblivious to her incredulity as he observed the towering work of art, "-mine isn't _quite _so large."

Maria stared open mouthed at her employer. He couldn't possibly be talking about... _could he_?! But then again, more often than not it felt as though he could simply read her mind, so seemingly accurate were his observations of her every thought and feeling. Whether he was psychic or not however, the horror must've been evident in her expression, because the second his gaze fell to her face he seemed to realise _precisely _what he'd said and the smile froze on his lips, his eyes widening with something very much akin to panic.

"The statue!" He blustered stupidly in his haste to explain himself, "I have a smaller replica of this exact sculpture in the gardens back at home! The uh.. the resemblance is quite impressive!"

"Oh!" she breathed, with equal parts relief and burning mortification at the obvious misunderstanding, "Yes, yes of course! The gardens.."

The awkward silence that followed was crushing in its intensity, and she took great pains to stare at the ceiling, the floor, her shoes - anywhere but at him, the image of the statue's midriff still burning vividly in her mind's eye. _His _gaze however, stayed glued on her, searching her flushed face with avid curiosity - until his sheepish grin eventually gave way to a devilish little smirk. She caught his amusement in the corner of her eye and instantly wished for the ground to swallow her up. Ohhh the scoundrel knew _exactly _what she'd been thinking about and was taking the greatest satisfaction in watching her squirm!

"I suppose you would deem these works of art _sinful _back at the abbey, Fraulein," he purred knowingly, breaking the unbearable tension.

Recovering her wits somewhat, Maria scowled, more than a little affronted. Did he think her so sheltered that mere stone and marble might have the power to shock her? The notion suddenly irritated her beyond belief.

"Quite the contrary Captain," she retorted icily, "this is simply the human form as God intended it."

He cocked an amused eyebrow at her, apparently unconvinced by her feigned nonchalance.

"Well if _this _was God's expectation when he created man, I'm afraid the majority of us have fallen far short, Fräulein."

Much to her distinct horror, Maria felt her face flaming again. As hard as she might try, she couldn't imagine Captain Von Trapp falling short of _any _expectations, physical or otherwise. He was simply too much of a man in every sense of the word. With no effort whatsoever, he exuded a raw masculinity and command that even _she_, an aspiring nun, was not entirely immune to - as reluctant as she might be to admit it.

It was simply the God's honest truth, a harmless and completely objective observation. Just as it was a plain fact that the statues before her were striking, it was also a plain fact that Captain Von Trapp was a formidable example of traditional male verility. The smug scoundrel was clearly all too aware of his own appeal though, because he looked immensely pleased with himself all of a sudden. Yes, he most likely knew _exactly _the effect he was having on her state of mind, and his insufferable arrogance left her altogether fuming.

"Nursing an inferiority complex, Georg?" It was Herr Detweiler who appeared out of nowhere to interrupt them, much to Maria's relief and simultaneous embarrassment, "I wager even you can't.. uh, _rise to the occasion _as much as these fellows might!"

"Yes, _thank you _Max," the captain rolled his eyes in exasperation.

"Don't let him fool you, Fräulein," the impresario whispered to Maria with a mischievous wink, casting the captain a pointed look, "He may _seem _more human than these marble scoundrels, but he too is made purely of stone!"

"Oh I don't doubt it, Herr Detweiler!" Maria agreed sharply, glad of the sudden opportunity to bait her employer as much as he'd been baiting her only moments ago.

"Ha!" Max barked triumphantly, rounding on his friend with an accusatory finger, "It's just as I suspected. You've been terrorising her again with that scowl of yours, Georg!"

"As a matter of fact," the captain gritted, "we were just discussing how the majority of the male population falls short of such unattainable expectations and _you _have quite unknowingly appeared at the opportune moment in which to prove my point."

He would be throwing her a conspiratorial grin at the impresario's expense, Maria was sure of it, but she absolutely refused to give him the satisfaction of looking at him. It was perhaps for that reason that she failed to notice the sudden flicker of self-doubt that crossed his face, nor the way his smirk faltered slightly.

"I'm offended Georg, really," the impresario retorted, hand pressed to his chest in mock indignation, "isn't it obvious I'm an Adonis in mortal's clothing!"

"A _wolf _in _sheep's _clothing, more like," the captain scoffed, "wouldn't you agree, Fraulein?"

Again she refused to meet his eye, so determined she was to maintain an air of cool detachment. Where normally she would satisfy him with some kind of witty remark, this time she swallowed it down.

"It wouldn't be my place to say, sir," she replied dismissively, before turning to the impresario with a polite smile, "if you'll please excuse me, Herr Detweiler."

With that, she flounced off in search of the children, exuding what she hoped was an air of completely unaffected grace. In her anger, she completely missed the way her employer called after her, his brow knitted — and she wouldn't have responded anyway, given her desperation to get as far away from the fiend as possible.

The second she was out of his sight, she stomped her foot on the ground with an infuriated huff. Why was was it that she allowed Georg Von Trapp to have such an effect on her? Frustration bubbled in her gut as she remembered the self-satisfied grin that'd spread across his face when he'd quite knowingly provoked a reaction from her. Yes, she considered darkly, the smug villain had most likely loved _every second _of her embarrassment, flattering as it evidently was!

Luckily for her peace of mind, she discovered the children in the adjacent room some minutes later, studying an enormous oil painted canvas of a vivid battle scene - Napoleon's horses charging and reared on powerful hind legs.

"Now _this _is more like it!" Louisa grinned darkly up at the work of art. Nearby, her brothers attempted their own reconstruction of the scene, as their sisters fell about laughing at the sight - and Maria immediately felt that all was right with the world again. _This is why I'm here, _she reminded herself brightly, _the children will be my anchor, and I __will be __theirs._ With that comforting thought in mind, she joined in on the fun, all musings of marble men and their insufferable flesh-and-blood counterparts momentarily forgotten.

* * *

**A/N: isn't Georg a scoundrel! I just love them when they squabble. And it just wouldn't be Paris without a few naked statues thrown in to send Maria off balance **


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: I'm finding myself rattling through these chapters so my updates are pretty speedy. Thanks to those who are still with me. Again there's another small nod to one of my other stories, because it just seemed fitting. **

* * *

**Chapter 5**

It might've been the case that the children distracted her enough from her anger during the daytime. But that night, when she was alone in her bed, there was nothing that could prevent her employer's complacent smirk from dancing behind Maria's eyelids. Once again, her blood boiled. She didn't know what vexed her more, the fact that he was quite clearly aware of her innocent fascination, or the fact that she felt that way about him in the first place. Either way, she spent the majority of the night lathering herself up into an unfounded rage, and by the time she emerged the next morning, she had resolved to ignore the man's existence entirely.

_Perhaps that will wipe the unbearable smirk off his face_, she thought smugly.

"Good morning, children!" She chirped upon entering the lounge, marching straight past her employer with her newly cemented indifference, "what would you all like to do today?"

"Father says there's a macaron shop he wants to take us all to!" Kurt informed her, rubbing his stomach impatiently.

"Yes, Fraulein," the captain interjected, watching her over the rim of his coffee cup, "I know of this quaint little place near Notre Dame called_ L'aduree Paris_," the french words curled off his tongue like silk, "Macarons were their mother's favourite, you see... I hope you don't mind."

_Oh for pity's sake! _Maria thought to herself. Of all the times he refused to utter a single word about his late wife, he had to wait until the one time she was sulking with him to be so adorably sentimental.

"That sounds agreeable, sir," she replied dismissively, busying herself with tying Gretl's hair before her resolve threatened to waver.

"I've heard you have a sweet tooth," he tried again teasingly.

"I prefer strudel," was her abrupt retort.

"Well I think they also serve strudel as well—"

"_Salzberger_ strudel," she added curtly.

Whether he was taken aback by her sour tone, she didn't know, but if she'd given in to the temptation of looking at him she might've seen the hint of bewilderment that crossed her employer's face. As it was, she remained firmly within the bounds of professionalism - a feat she managed to stubbornly uphold all the way to L'aduree Paris, even while the captain tried to entice her into conversation with the many sights, sounds and smells of the city along the way:

"_Do you see Notre Dame's gargoyles perched high at the top, Fraulein?" _

And, sniffing the air blissfully:

"_Ah, do you smell that, Fraulein? Freshly baked croissants!"_

And later, when they passed a street musician whose cap he flung some coins into:

"_The accordion is so delightfully Parisian isn't it. What do you make of it, Fraulein?"_

Every question he asked was met with as bland and short a response as Maria could muster, though it was hard to hide her rapture as she drank it all in, all the things she had once only heard about within the confines of his study back in Aigen. Notre Dame especially was the most breathtaking masterpiece she'd ever seen, woven together in all its might by the intricate carvings of men from centuries past.

By the time they got to the macaron shop, she was positively teeming with caged energy and felt like she might burst open with all the thoughts and feelings she wanted to share with the captain. At times like these, she'd normally burst into song as well, but she directed her enthusiasm at the children instead.

"Isn't it beautiful, girls!" she cooed to the little ones, pointing through the huge bay window at the vast array of macarons, spread elegantly before them in every colour of the rainbow. While the captain, Baroness Shraeder and Herr Detweiler busied themselves organising a table out front with the children, Maria rallied up their orders and went inside to explore. It was there that she was welcomed by the tall young man behind the counter.

"Bonjour," he greeted, watching her amusedly as she pressed her face right up close to the display, "careful," he chuckled, his eyes warm, "you might just fall through the glass!"

"I could think of worse ways to go, I suppose!" she laughed, straightening up to get a better look at her new acquaintance. He couldn't have been much older than she was, she noticed — and he had a kind face, with boyish features and sandy blond hair.

"_Precisely_ the reason I chose to go into the macaron making business," he joked with mock seriousness, and they shared in another easy laugh.

"My name's Jacques, by the way," he introduced himself brightly a moment later, "And if you're wondering which flavour is the one to go for," he added with a conspiratorial wink, "I highly recommend the strawberry."

She was about to introduce herself in return, but they were interrupted at that precise moment by the firm tinker of the shop's bell as the captain came marching in, presumably to find out what was taking her so long.

"Struggling to decide, Fraulein?" He quipped, filling the space next to her. If he was hoping for a smile though, Maria certainly didn't reward him with one, and it was in the resulting silence that he noticed her new acquaintance watching them curiously.

"Ah... " his eyes narrowed in dawning comprehension, "and here I was, worrying you'd somehow managed to set the kitchen on fire or something," he remarked sardonically in German, "instead you've been so agreeably... _distracted_. Enjoying your little chit-chat?"

"Very much so, thank you captain," Maria chirruped back in her mother tongue — a language that Jacques clearly didn't understand, for the boy's eyes darted uneasily from captain, to governess, to captain again, "Jacques was just telling me all about why he chose to work in a macaron shop."

"Oh, is that so?" the captain replied with mock fascination, "He sounds positively..." his steely gaze slithered back to Jacques' face then and the boy didn't need to speak German to understand he was being subjected to a rather intimidating inspection, "..._fascinating_."

"Oh, he most certainly is!"

The captain's frown only deepened.

"Your father doesn't seem to like me very much," Jacques whispered to Maria mischievously, assuming wrongly that the captain couldn't speak french. Overcome with fiendish delight, it was all Maria could do not to double over with laughter when she saw the look of incredulous horror that crossed her employer's face.

"Her _father_?!" he boomed in the boy's mother tongue, absolutely aghast. The young man's face paled in an instant, but rather than correcting the misunderstanding, Maria chose instead to take advantage of the opportunity for a little mischief.

"Oh don't worry about _him_," she grinned at her conspirator, completely ignoring the captain's resulting splutter of indignation, "it's nothing one of your delicious macarons won't fix, I'm sure!"

"Fraulein..." came her employer's low warning - but she remained entirely unaffected.

"Which flavour would you like, Captain?"

"Fraulein."

"Jacques recommends the strawberry," she turned to the young man with a radiant smile, "don't you Jacques."

The boy beamed at having such attention bestowed upon him, "Absolutely, mademoiselle!"

"Fraulein!"

"And what of the chocolate?" she enquired.

"Oh, it's one of the best!" Jacques reassured her.

"Splendid! I'll take seven of those and maybe—"

"_Fraulein_!"

It was only then that she allowed herself to acknowledge him, blinking up at his face as though she'd only just realised he was there.

"Yes, captain?" She remarked innocently.

"Your assistance is required with the children," he gritted through clenched teeth, "_now_."

"Very well," she conceded coolly, moving to follow him out when—

"Wait, mademoiselle!"

She turned back to find Jacques holding up her plate of requested macarons. Beside her, she noticed the captain had also halted in his tracks and was glaring at the young man with obvious malevolence.

"Oh, silly me!" she skipped back over to retrieve her treats, flashing her new friend a final grin as she took the plate from his hand, "thank you, Jacques."

"I didn't get _your_ name?" he added hopefully, leaning closer to her over the counter — and she would've given it to him, had it not been for the sudden sensation of the captain's broad hand clamping firmly around her wrist. Before she had a chance to even open her mouth, she found herself being tugged away with surprising force and dragged unceremoniously towards the cafe's front door.

"Her _name_," the captain hissed venomously over his shoulder in french, "is _Sister_ Maria. Or at least, it soon will be!"

And with that he barrelled her through the door as though she were light as a rag doll, the shop's little bell tinkering violently as they passed. Without so much as a word, he plonked her down in her assigned seat with the rest of the group, glowering at her as he pinched a bright pink macaron from Herr Detweiler's plate and began chewing on it as though it were a lump of chalk.

"Hey!" The impresario protested as the little ones giggled, "I was looking forward to that!"

"Oh Georg, you bully!" Baroness Shraeder teased with a pout and a light smack of the captain's arm, "I've heard strawberry is the most delicious option here and now darling Max will never know!"

"It's mediocre at best," the captain grouched petulantly, his glare still trained on Maria, though she pretended not to notice.

"Here. You may have mine, Herr Detweiler," she made a great show of offering the impresario her plate, noting the way her employer's jaw tightened as she did so, "the kind young man behind the counter snuck me an extra strawberry one."

"Oh, Fraulein!" the impresario clapped a hand to his chest with so much dramatic flare that she couldn't help but giggle, "has anyone ever told you you're a guardian angel!"

With that, he swiped greedily for the proffered pink treat.

"Max!" The baroness scolded on a laugh, "you've already had two!"

The children's uncle only shrugged.

"Make it an uneven three!"

* * *

That evening, Maria and the children were to spend their time as they wished, for the captain and his guests were called away to have dinner with some old acquaintances that lived on the outskirts of the city.

"We won't be back until late," he informed her stiffly, to which she replied with a barely perceptible nod. He was just on his way out the door when apparently he thought better of it, spinning back around to face her. For the first time that day, she allowed herself to truly look at him, and she could tell by the crease of his brow that he was engaged in some kind of internal conflict.

"Captain?"

Whatever he'd planned on saying to her, it was _not_ what actually came out of his mouth.

"You have a good evening, Fraulein."

And with that he was gone.

* * *

She lay awake again that night, long after the captain and his guests returned from their rendezvous, wondering whether she hadn't, in fact, gone quite mad. All day she'd made a conscious effort to sulk with the captain and - save for the small incident in the macaron shop where she'd most likely only made a fool of herself - the insufferable man had hardly noticed! And why should he, she asked herself sourly. She was only the governess after all, there to mind his children and nothing more. The way she'd detached herself from him all day was the way a governess _should_ behave towards her employer, she realised - without any of the coy smiles or shared jokes or gentle teasing. But the truth was, trying to keep herself at a solid distance from Georg Von Trapp had proved rather exhausting. She didn't dare ask herself why.

Suddenly, the faint tinker of a piano pulled her from her thoughts, and she felt a skitter of goosebumps prickle her skin. At first she thought she was dreaming, having somehow drifted off to sleep without realising it. How else would she be hearing an instrument here, now, in the middle of the night? But then she remembered, there was a neglected grand piano in the corner of the lounge — and she knew of only one man with fingers skilled enough to play it. A man who, according to his children, hadn't touched a piano in four long years.

As if in a dream she followed its call - and sure enough she found him, bent low over the instrument, his shoulders hunched and his body cast in shadow. He toyed gently with the ivory keys, presumably so that he wouldn't wake the rest of the suite, and for a moment she allowed herself the small transgression of admiring him unseen from the doorway. The languid tune coiled around her chest like ivy, and as hard as she might try to cling onto it, she felt her anger towards him ebbing away with every note.

Eventually his fingers stilled, the room filling with a charged silence, and she could tell by the tension in his shoulders that he was already aware of her presence. He made no move to turn around and greet her though, choosing instead to aim his words at the piano keys.

"My fingers have grown clumsy over the years."

Her resolve crumbling, she couldn't help herself. She just _had_ to say something.

"That was beautiful, Captain."

This time, he _did_ turn around, and where she might've expected to see pain or sorrow in his eyes, instead she found only an innocent curiosity as he studied her. He was still wearing his dinner jacket, she noticed briefly, and suddenly she felt like a child standing there in only her night things. It seemed he'd noticed her odd choice of attire as well, for his eyes roamed down the length of her body and back up again, his expression unreadable.

"So you've decided you're speaking to me again, hmm?" he enquired playfully, stretching his long legs out in front of him and knitting his hands together in his lap.

Caught out, she tried desperately to feign ignorance, even while her heart began to beat a little faster, "I... I was never _not_ speaking to you, Cap—"

"Oh-ho, yes you were," he interrupted mirthfully, "I _know_ you were."

Suddenly her anger flared at him again, "do you always claim to know everything?" She challenged, hardly caring that they were suddenly mixed up in a quarrel akin to a lover's spat.

He paused for a moment, all humour leaving his face, "I may not know _everything_," he admitted simply, "But I know I _didn't like it_."

Taken aback by his unexpected confession, she could barely form a coherent thought before he continued.

"That being said, I'm sure I deserved your disdain in one way or another," he conceded, "I only wish to know what it is I've done wrong."

"Nothing," she squeaked, looking to the floor, to the ceiling, to the piano - anywhere but at him, lest he should find everything he needed to know written in the depths of her eyes, "You haven't done a _thing_ to—"

"Why is it then," he prodded softly, "that you can't even look at me?"

It was a veiled challenge, she knew. And, defiant fool that she was, she rose to the bait, forcing herself to look him square in the eye. It was a mistake of course, as she knew it would be, for she immediately fell victim to the piercing power of that blue gaze.

"Tell me."

For once, it sounded like a plea, rather than a command - but still she remained silent, not so much through a stubborn determination as a sudden inability to draw breath. But when interminable seconds passed without her saying anything, it seemed he eventually took pity on her.

"You know," he chuckled lightly, running a broad palm along the top of the instrument behind him, "I never thought I'd sit at a piano again. The one back at home is still in the attic, gathering dust."

"I know," she managed to find her voice, grateful for the sudden change in topic, "the children showed me."

It was a relief to finally get it off her chest, the fact that she'd been to that dark and forgotten place in the villa's rafters, where it seemed as though time itself had stopped dead on the very day that Agathe Von Trapp had passed. She half expected his face to blacken with anger then, but no such thing happened. Instead, he simply sighed heavily.

"Yes I suspected as much. They were sneaking off to the attic long before _you_ joined the ranks. Though I wager you're the first in a long line of governesses to actually _encourage_ such insubordination!"

"I didn't encourage it," she fibbed, "I merely... bent the rules a little."

"Hmm," he quirked an eyebrow, "Under the pretense of another thunder storm, I presume?"

They shared the smallest of conspiratorial smiles.

"Perhaps," she confessed, "but please don't be angry with them, captain. They only wanted to remember. And I couldn't deny them that, not when I know all too well what it feels like."

That seemed to garner his attention.

"Oh?"

She had no idea what possessed her to tell him, not when she'd promised herself long ago she wouldn't tell a soul.

"My uh.. my own parents passed away when I was very young."

The surprise that flashed across his features was gone as quickly as it'd come.

"I didn't know that Fraulein. I'm sorry."

She shrugged, dipping her head, "It was decades ago now captain."

He paused for a moment.

"Is that what led you to the convent?"

"Eventually," she admitted, "At first I went to live with my uncle but he was a... a cruel man. Made crueller still by bitterness and drink."

This time the captain's face _did_ blacken with anger. So much so, that Maria could've sworn the temperature in the room dropped a couple of degrees.

"He hurt you?" He asked with heart-stopping gravity.

"Rarely. But I was a... a disobedient child," she twisted her hands fretfully in front of her lap, "He carried a riding crop but we didn't keep horses," the implication was clear, "I left when I was Leisl's age."

Much to her relief, she found no pity in his expression - but what she _did_ see there, she could hardly dare herself to identify. Even more frightening was the fact that he rose to his feet and took a step closer to her, close enough that she thought for a moment he might reach out and touch her. But he didn't need to. His next words alone felt like a soothing caress, spoken with dark authority.

"If I had been there, Fraulein..."

"I'm safe now," she managed to rasp, "But I have so few memories of my parents... a boxful, in fact. And that attic of yours, Captain - that's the _children's_ very own box of memories," she implored, "Please, let them have it."

With a pensive nod, he clasped his hands behind his back and moved toward the french doors, gazing out over Paris by moonlight, "I've kept them in the dark for far too long now. I know that."

"It's all forgotten, sir," she reassured him earnestly, "they never stopped adoring you, not for a moment."

He looked at her doubtfully over his shoulder then, and she realised he was not the self-assured victor he so often pretended to be, "even while I was off soaking myself in champagne and waltzing to Strausses I couldn't even remember?"

This time the smile she offered him was nothing but genuine, "even then."

At that, his eyes softened again, to the point that Maria was entirely unable to look away.

"Thank you, Fraulein."

In the heavy silence that followed, Maria sensed her cue to leave, even while he continued to hold her hostage with his stare. Suddenly self-conscious, and fearful that he might prod her with more questions, she bid him a muttered good night and scurried to the door - but he called her back before she had a chance to make her escape.

"Fraulein?"

Breathless, she turned to face him, clutching the door frame for support. His gaze burned her.

"Forgive me."

Forgive him? She knew in that moment she would forgive Georg Von Trapp anything.

* * *

**A/N: This chapter was a lot of fun to write. That being said, I'm finding this story a bit of a challenge since it's set during that subtle interlude where they aren't aware of their feelings yet. So your words are very encouraging. Any constructive criticism is of course also welcome, so I can improve! **


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Thanks again to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! If you like jealous Georg as much as I do, then buckle up. It's opera time!**

* * *

**Chapter 6**

By the next morning, it was as if their strange encounter had been nothing more than an elusive dream - and for Georg especially, it was a rendezvous he rather hoped to put behind him. To liaise with his governess in the late hours of the night, no matter how innocently, was entirely inappropriate, as were the thoughts he'd then entertained about her later, when sleep had evaded him.

And, much to his chagrin, brooding about her had only brought to light _another_ problem that he hadn't anticipated: it was the day of the opera, and he'd completely forgotten to arrange a suitable outfit for the Fraulein. As satisfactory as her handmade dresses were, they certainly wouldn't be deemed appropriate for the Palais Garnier. Even the lovely blue thing she'd worn the night of the puppet show would seem out of place amongst the ballgowns of the Parisian elite.

Rather sheepishly, he called her to a quiet corner of the lounge to tell her as much, trying unsuccessfully to force a couple of thousand Francs into her hand with the strict instruction to go out and find herself something suitable to wear.

"But I'm not _coming_ to the opera, Captain!" She gawped at him in bewilderment.

"Oh yes you are," he retorted, waving the bank notes at her impatiently, "did you really think I would let my children run riot at the Palais Garnier without you there to mind them? And besides," he chuckled, "I'd have a mutiny on my hands if I told them you weren't coming."

She stared at the money as though it were the first time she'd ever seen any.

"I wouldn't even know where to begin, sir..."

He gave a hapless shrug, "You could take Leisl with you after breakfast. She'll be able to help."

"Really father?" The girl stepped forward eagerly after overhearing her name, beaming with pride at having been chosen for such a sophisticated task.

"Well, just this once," he answered her with a wink, "the rest of you can come with uncle Max, baroness Shraeder and I for crepes."

"Oh Fraulein, wouldn't that be wonderful?" Leisl exclaimed, with so much excitement that Maria hadn't the heart to refuse her. And just like that, the captain handed her the bank notes as if they were little more than mere scraps of paper. Of course, she knew that money ought to mean absolutely nothing to her, and yet his generosity left her clutching at the crisp bills like it was a sordid treasure, a personal gift from him to her.

Shortly after breakfast, she took heed of his advice and made her way out into the city with Leisl by her side, wondering what on Earth a postulant-cum-governess was supposed to wear to a night at the Parisian opera.

* * *

"Hurry up Fraulein, what's taking so long?" Maria heard Louisa's impatient call from out in the lounge where the girls were all waiting for her expectantly, already sporting their new dresses. Feeling unsure of herself, but knowing she had very little choice when it came to tonight's wardrobe selection, she stepped tentatively out of her bedroom and made her way into the open living space. Upon her arrival, the little ones gasped with glee and Leisl actually leapt out of her seat.

"Oh Fraulein!" the girl gushed dreamily, "oh, you look absolutely beautiful! I just knew we'd picked the right one!"

"I fear it's a little too _much_ though, Leisl," Maria fussed, smoothing her hand down the skirts of the dress self-consciously, "don't you think?"

"That's just because you're used to wearing potato sacks," Brigitta shrugged honestly, receiving a sharp hiss of disapproval from her eldest sister.

"Well, this one is certainly no potato sack," Louisa agreed approvingly, "In fact, I wager Father and uncle Max won't know what's hit them!"

"Louisa!" Maria censured, utterly mortified. The girl only grinned slyly, and Maria suspected she hadn't actually meant anything by the scandalous remark. The very idea that her appearance would have any effect on the captain or Herr Detweiler whatsoever was highly inappropriate - and yet a forbidden sense of pride still quivered low in Maria's belly as she turned to face the mirror.

Instantly she did a double-take, stirred by the person she saw staring back at her - not a frightened young girl, not a cloistered innocent, but a woman. She hardly recognised herself - the sophisticated lady in the mirror couldn't possibly be her! There was a challenging glint in the mirrored woman's eye, as though she was daring Maria to take a chance. Vanity was a sin, she knew that well enough - but perhaps for just one night, she could let herself pretend.

"You look like a princess," Gretl giggled, and her governess rewarded her with a wide smile and a tap on the nose.

"And you, my darling- _all_ of you, in fact," she looked upon the captain's daughters ranging from ages five to sixteen, "You'll make your father so proud tonight. You always do. Now, come on," she made to shepherd them outside towards the elevator, "let's go downstairs and meet the boys, we're already late!"

* * *

"If we don't leave soon I won't have any time to network before the performance starts," Max sulked, shooting his tuxedo cuff and checking his watch, his eyes darting back to the doorway every few seconds.

"You really are nothing if not persistent, Max," Georg rolled his eyes, taking a welcome swig of his whisky. They'd agreed to give the girls the run of the suite and so had donned their tailcoats quickly before retreating to the hotel's bar, with Friedrich and Kurt in tow. The boys certainly looked the part; fine young men with their hair combed back and shirts crisply pressed. The ladies though, had yet to make an appearance, despite having agreed to meet them downstairs at 7pm sharp. Max was right, they were running late.

"I'll order us another round," Georg muttered, draining his tumbler and turning to the bar, plonking the glass down atop the mahogany and gesturing for the attention of the waiter. He'd had his back turned for only a few seconds when the impresario suddenly began choking violently on his drink beside him.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" Georg scowled at the man, perplexed. But the impresario only thumped his own chest and pointed mutely to the bar's doorway, his eyes wide.

"By jove," he spluttered in disbelief, "Is that... Fraulein Maria?"

_Ah, good! _Georg thought impatiently, turning to greet his girls and their governess, _it's about dam ti—_

He froze when his eyes found her, and he was so taken aback for a moment that he managed to upend his empty whisky tumbler with a clumsy elbow. The heavy glass rolled away unceremoniously down the bar behind him, but he was in no fit state to bother saving it. Fraulein Maria wore a floor-length, ruched dress in the colour of glowing ivory that, while modest in its simple elegance, still clung to her figure in a way that confirmed she was _not_ the skinny, awkward thing he'd mistaken her for on the first day of their acquaintance. No - far from it. Instead she was all legs and soft curves and porcelain skin. It was a dress fitting of a maiden, to be sure - and yet the combination of innocence and sophistication was enough to make his mouth go dry.

He wondered briefly whether the Mother Abbess would approve, but then again he wouldn't have been able to pick the elderly woman out of a line up at this current moment. There really was no use in denying it: the fraulein looked lovely. _More_ than lovely. Radiant, in fact. And any resolve he might've had in forgetting their little midnight encounter was immediately lost along with his whisky glass.

"I'd close your mouth if I were you, Georg," Max quipped with a knowing smirk, as the governess and her charges made their way over.

"Your drinks, monsieur," the barkeep announced from somewhere behind them, and Georg groped blindly along the bar until his palm made contact with the proffered glass, knocking the burning liquid back in one mouthful.

"I don't know what you're talking about," he rasped as the impresario only grinned wider. Luckily though, he was saved from having to explain himself by his eldest son, who chose that moment to make a great show of greeting his governess.

"Fraulein Maria, may I say you look wonderful," the boy offered gallantly, dropping into a low bow.

Much to her embarrassment, Maria felt her cheeks glow pink at the boy's gesture, "thank you Friedrich," she laughed lightly, "The credit lies solely with the couturier and Leisl, of course!"

Inwardly Georg frowned at the injustice she'd served herself. The magnificence lay not in the dress so much as in its wearer, anyone could see that.

"And may I say you look very dashing yourself," she added, before turning to the bar with a smile, "Good evening, Herr Detweiler.. Captain."

Up until now, Maria had completely avoided looking at her employer for fear that the sight of him in all his formal attire might cause that new, yet increasingly familiar, fluttering in her stomach. During their shopping spree that very morning, Leisl had informed her the captain would be wearing his full coat and tails to the opera, and most likely his Maria Theresa cross as well.

"His medals?!" Maria had rasped, remembering their talk by the Eiffel Tower.

"It is tradition, Fraulein! He must look his best at such a formal event."

As a result, she had spent most of the afternoon lost in thoughts of what a brooding sea captain might look like in formalwear. It turned out though, that her imagination had not done the man justice. Indeed, her young mind could never have conjured up the sharpness of his jaw outlined against the stiff white collar, nor the breadth of his shoulders draped in elegant black. She could never have imagined the way his crisp waistcoat might frame his chest, nor the power and height she might witness in his stance. Most of all, she could never have predicted the curious way that her body seemed to hum in response to it.

"Good evening, Fraulein!" the impresario beamed jovially, while the captain merely scowled into his whisky glass, "your dress really is magnificent!"

"Oh, I don't know about that.."

"Isn't it magnificent, Georg?" Herr Detweiler insisted, elbowing his friend in the ribs. But the captain barely looked up from his drink.

"Hmm.. yes, very nice, Fraulein," he muttered gruffly, turning back to the barkeep to order another beverage.

Inwardly, Maria's heart sank. Had she overstepped the mark by purchasing a dress that was too sophisticated for the likes of her? Had she forgotten her place as a mere governess? She wasn't sure what kind of reaction she had expected from her employer, but she knew deep down the kind of reaction she had _hoped_ for. She supposed it served her right for entertaining such silly, fanciful thoughts.

Still, his indifference stung, especially after their private encounter, and it emphasised just how much she didn't belong in this alien, upper class world of his. There he stood, tall and arresting, effortlessly handsome, entirely unaffected - and yet he was a stranger in a waistcoat once again. Her self doubt only increased the second Baroness Shraeder entered the room, wearing a dazzling red number that sparkled like rubies as she moved.

"I'm so sorry I'm late, my darlings," she cooed, planting a light kiss on the captain's cheek for all to see.

"Oh-ho, only _fashionably_ late my dear," the captain chuckled, all charm and flattery once again, "and for good reason, I see," he looked her up and down approvingly, "You look sensational."

There it was again, that odd sinking feeling in Maria's stomach.

"Oh, this old thing.." the baroness gushed, slipping her arm through the captain's. It was then that her eyes narrowed onto Maria, "and what a lovely little dress _you_ have on, my dear," she smiled sweetly. It was meant to be a compliment, Maria was sure. But in reality, it made her feel as though she was wearing one of her infamous potato sacks.

* * *

God was testing him, he was certain of it. That was the only possible explanation for the torture he was being forced to endure this evening. The grand foyer of the Palais Garnier was absolutely teeming with people, a dense sea of tailcoats and glamorous women dressed to the nines in lavish ballgowns. _Why_ then, did every other man in the vicinity deem it necessary to gawk at his governess? As if the snotty little twit at the macaron shop hadn't been enough!

It was most infuriating - she was there to do a job after all, not to pose as bait for their hungry gazes! In all her sheltered innocence, she had absolutely no idea that she was the subject of so many approving looks, but Georg did. And his hands itched to throttle every last man that so much as glanced in her direction. His anger was absolutely not to be mistaken for jealousy, however. No - the very assumption would be utterly absurd! He was merely concerned for the little governess' well-being amongst the many roues and cads of the french aristocracy.

"This really is _most_ entertaining," Max muttered to his friend under his breath, while Elsa and the governess were busy checking the children's coats.

Georg frowned, "the performance hasn't even started yet?"

"I wasn't referring to the opera Georg, I was referring to your immensely amusing internal struggle every time the Fraulein happens to catch a young man's eye."

Instantly Georg's lips pressed into a thin line, "that's simply not true. And I'd warn you not to make such ridiculous assump-"

The words died on his lips when, at that precise moment, a young knave made the mistake of staring a little too long at the unsuspecting Fraulein's backside as she helped remove Gretl's jacket. It took Max a couple of seconds to realise that Georg was no longer by his side but was thundering towards the youth instead, his face a mask of undeniable anger.

"_Oh for pity's sake_.."

Tearing after him, the impresario managed to obstruct Georg's path just in the nick of time and the young man eventually disappeared into the throng, completely oblivious to the tongue lashing he'd almost received from Austria's greatest naval hero.

"Georg, what exactly are you playing at!" The impresario hissed, jabbing a finger into his friend's chest, "Have you completely forgotten yourself?!"

"Fraulein Maria is under my protection, Max," Georg gritted, the colour high in his cheeks, "and they're all just.. just _leering_ at her like a bunch of hormone-driven sailors!"

Max rolled his eyes at the irony of such a statement, "You're exaggerating. She's turned a few heads, that's all. So have most of the other ladies in attendance tonight."

But Georg apparently couldn't care less about any of the other ladies in attendance.

"They wouldn't stare at her that way if they knew she was a postulant!"

"And yet it doesn't seem to stop _you_, does it?" Max remarked, receiving a look of complete astonishment by way of response. It seemed he'd hit the mark with scorching precision, because Georg could form no reply, "I'm sure it's all too easy to forget that a girl like that is promised to God," he added knowingly.

"It isn't like that..." Georg insisted, tugging uncomfortably at his collar. Was it just him, or was it becoming unbearably hot in this godforsaken place?

"Isn't it?" The impresario needled, "do tell me then, what _is_ it like?"

All colour seemed to drain from his friend's face.

"I think it's about time we took our seats."

* * *

As the symbols clashed and the male soprano's voice reached an octave that Maria could only envy, she felt her heart swell with an intense wave of unexpected emotion. She'd never been so utterly captivated in all her life, everything about the performance was magical, from the costumes, to the orchestra, to the sheer magnificence of the voices and the pure feeling behind every note. Transfixed, she wrung her hands in her lap subconsciously, struggling to contain the fervour that seemed to grip her soul.

Oh, how she would dream of this night for the rest of her days, until she was an elderly nun with nought but her cherished memories. No matter how many years passed, she knew she would always treasure the summer she spent with the distinguished family of an Austrian sea captain who, quite unexpectedly, had made her feel more at home than she'd ever thought possible. And soon it would be coming to an end. The children would go back to school, she would return to the abbey, and the captain would marry his intended. She wasn't sure if it was the thought of September's rapid approach, or the swell of the music on stage, but suddenly she found herself fighting to hold back tears.

From his own seat, Georg gazed at his governess privately, unable to help himself. While she was enraptured by the performance, he was held spellbound by the sheer, unadulterated awe that lit up her face. Quite simply, she was deaf and blind to anything else, and he could tell she was deeply moved by what she was seeing, because her wide eyes shone with unshed tears in the warm glow of the stage's light. Never before had he seen such open emotion from anyone - and a quick glance around the rest of the audience confirmed that, sure enough, she was the only thing real amongst a sea of cardboard cutouts.

When a particularly heart-wrenching note broke through the room moments later, he saw her breath catch and a fidgeting hand flew to her throat. It was then that the most bizarre desire overcame him, a desire as crystal clear and powerful as the voices on stage. He wanted to take that small hand in his, to run his thumb across a knuckle, to press an open-mouthed kiss to the back of it and reassure her on a whisper that she wasn't the only one overwhelmed. Feeling his own throat constrict unexpectedly, he wrenched his eyes away from her, the moment too jarring to be trusted.

At intermission, he couldn't wait to get away, feigning a headache and escaping out onto the terrace alone in an attempt to catch his breath. _What the hell are you doing!_ His mind screamed at him as he dashed moisture from his brow. Clearly he was just out of sorts tonight - the ivory dress had thrown him off balance and then Max's unwanted comments had only served to confuse him further. Yes.. that was it, he told himself. That's really all there was to it. To attribute his behaviour to anything else would be _ludicrous_, it would be...

"Georg?"

Whirling on the spot, he found Elsa on the steps leading down to the terrace, watching him curiously. Despite his frayed nerves and the untimely interruption, he was rather relieved to see her there. She was the perfect reminder of how things _ought_ to be; his saviour, the woman he had every intention of marrying. This was the rightful course his ship was meant to sail, he decided firmly. And he would not allow any more fleeting moments of madness to come between him and his destination.

"Elsa," his smile was genuine, if not a little tight, "I'm feeling a lot better now. I think the heat just went to my head..."

"Yes, it was rather _warm_ in there wasn't it.."

He chuckled nervously, ignoring the veiled meaning behind her words, "uh.. where are the children?" he enquired - a considerably _safer_ topic of conversation.

"They're inside, with their governess I should expect," Elsa replied casually, "though she's so busy making friends I'm surprised she has any time to watch them at all!"

Making friends? What in God's name did that mean? Unwanted images of young knaves approaching his governess with a drink and a false smile flitted through Georg's head. It was very clever of Elsa, to try and provoke a reaction from him when they both knew full well the only appropriate response was indifference. Why then, did he suddenly feel so sick? He had no idea whether he succeeded in keeping his face impassive but he suspected his resulting silence was enough to appease Elsa, at least for now.

"Come, Georg," she reached a hand out to him and his blood ran cold when he felt no urgent desire to take it, "let's get another drink before the second act starts, shall we?"

* * *

**A/N: I don't know why but again I was inspired by Pretty Woman in this chapter - the night Julia Roberts and Richard Gere go to the opera and she is moved to tears by the performance, while he's moved by her transformation in a gorgeous cocktail dress. Anyway, your thoughts, as always, mean the world!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: thanks so much for all the reviews on the last chapter, and also to the guest reviewers who I can't directly message! It's time for the opera part deux!**

**Chapter 7**

* * *

No sooner had he endeavoured to put the governess out of his mind did Georg begin searching for a crop of strawberry blonde hair amidst the sea of balding heads and synthetic coifs back inside. And sure enough, like a compass pointing north, his eyes found her, waiting in line to buy ice cream from one of the theatre's vendors while the children were minded by their uncle nearby.

Elsa hadn't exaggerated. She _was_ making friends, he noticed wryly. Stood beside her and chattering away with infuriating enthusiasm was a tall young scoundrel in a sharp black tuxedo. To make things worse, it wasn't the same cad who'd been leering at her earlier. No, this was a _new_ fiend, sent to test his waning patience. It wasn't until the youth turned into the light however, that Georg realised it wasn't a new fiend at all — he recognised the boyish face and sandy hair.

It was Jacques, the boy from the macaron shop. Incredulous, Georg snorted. _Of course_ it was Jacques - who else would God put there to torment him! And the most infuriating part of the whole thing was, with Elsa watching him like a hawk from the corner of her eye, he was unable to do a single thing about it.

Why was he so hellbent on intervening anyway, he asked himself bitterly. He'd told Max it was because of his obligation to protect the fraulein, and he supposed there was _some_ truth in that somewhat defensive statement. After all, he took the promise he'd made to the Reverend Mother very seriously and Georg Von Trapp was nothing if not a man of his word.

But it wasn't _just_ that, he allowed himself to admit. The truth was, the secrets she'd shared with him the night before were still fresh in his mind and, as much as he'd tried to forget their encounter, there was a question that had been nagging at him ever since. Had she gone to the abbey through fear? Had she found herself amongst the sisters simply because she'd had nowhere else to go?

He knew all too well what it was like to try and outrun memories, he'd been doing it himself for nearly a decade. In some ways, she was wise beyond her years — wiser even than _him_, in fact — and yet in others she was sheltered to the point of innocence. She had suffered a wicked childhood at the hands of a pathetic excuse for a man who didn't deserve to see the light of day. The fact that she had been through such cruelty and had still turned out the way she had was nothing short of a miracle.

How many more undeserving men would cross her path, he wondered, as his eyes slid across to the young boy attempting to court her. It was just as well that she was promised to God, because it seemed quite unlikely there was a man on Earth that would ever be good enough. At the very least, she was worth more than the eager attentions of an unpracticed adolescent, barely out of teen hood. She was worth more than what a boy like Jacques would be able to give her.

The second Elsa's back was turned he marched over to the pair, only to catch the back end of Jacque's goodbye as he kissed the fraulein's hand and departed. The boy never saw his assailant approaching, but the governess did, and she must've recognised the dangerous look on his face because she greeted him with a heavy roll of her eyes.

"You can put down your weapons captain, I was only saying hello!" the hint of exasperation in her voice was superseded by the tiniest hint of a mirthful smirk pulling at her lips.

He was momentarily taken aback. Had he really been so obvious?

"uh.. my _weapons_, Fraulein?"

_"Her name_," She mimicked in a deep Neanderthalian drawl, a thick scowl knitting her brow, "_is sister Maria_!"

His mouth fell open.

"I appreciate your concern for my safety, Captain, but you really needn't worry," she insisted, "I let him down gently."

Anger and protectiveness licked low at Georg's stomach all over again.

"He's the _least_ of my worries, with you looking like that!"

The tense pause that followed was excruciating as he waited for the inevitable shock to appear on her face — but she must've taken his words completely the wrong way because she chose to look thoroughly affronted instead.

"Well I'm _sorry_," she huffed hotly, "postulants aren't accustomed to high society fashion, I had absolutely no idea what would be appropriate! Here," she thrust a little pot of ice cream into his hand, "I know you love strawberry."

And with that, she flounced away in the direction of the children, somehow managing to make the movement look effortlessly graceful even despite her two left feet.

By the time the second act came around, he heard nothing, he saw nothing — only ivory waves upon porcelain skin.

* * *

The curtains fell, the audience leapt to their feet in a roar of applause, and Maria felt more alive than on those all too frequent occasions when she'd followed the Untersberg all the way up into the clouds. Though she would never confess it, especially not to the Reverend Mother, she rather wished they didn't have to leave, so enraptured she was by the setting — opulent ballgowns, sharp tuxedos, gold coated pillars and rich red carpeting that seemed to sink like velvet beneath her shoes. Nevertheless, it was time to depart, and the captain — who seemed oddly in a hurry all of a sudden — was already bustling the children and his guests into a couple of taxis outside while Maria was still collecting her coat.

"Here, let me help you with that," a sudden voice startled her from behind, and she turned, half expecting to see her employer standing there flapping her impatiently into her jacket. Instead she was surprised to discover a young stranger — this one dark-haired — coming to her aid.

"Oh. Thank you," she accepted, momentarily taken aback but politely relinquishing her jacket all the same. The young man grinned triumphantly.

"It's no problem at all, mademoiselle," he shook the coat free of wrinkles and held it up for her to slip her arms into when—

"Maria?" Jacques suddenly reappeared as if from nowhere, her gentle rejection of earlier that evening apparently not enough to keep him at bay. He eyed the new arrival with something akin to suspicion before asking her, "are you alright?"

The dark-haired man looked rather irritated at the interruption and turned questioningly to Maria, "A friend of yours?"

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she flustered, "but—"

"Is this man bothering you?" Jacques asked, a hand falling to rest at her elbow.

"No, he's just—"

But Jacques didn't permit her to finish, choosing instead to confront his contemporary, "If you'll allow me, sir—" he promptly reached for the coat but the dark-haired boy snatched it away.

"I think I have it under control, thank you."

Maria was utterly astonished by their absurd behaviour. It was like watching Friedrich and Kurt battle over a football! "Now gentlemen, _really_ I—"

"I believe the lady can decide for herself," Jacques interrupted, eyes flashing dangerously.

"I'm sorry," the rival hissed, in a way that made it clear he was not sorry in the slightest, "_who_ exactly are you again?"

"Come now—" Maria tried again but the pair had apparently forgotten all about her.

"A friend, just like she told you," Jacques insisted, "and as such, I think _I'll_ take her coat, thank you very much," he snatched for the garment and this time managed to grab hold of it.

"No, you will _not_," the dark-haired boy yanked it back, and all the while Maria's gentle protests went entirely unheeded.

It was an art form, she realised in bafflement: the incredible talent the aristocracy possessed to squabble back and forth so viciously and yet so subtly that nobody in the near vicinity had any idea there was even a scene developing. Indeed, everyone else continued to mill about the three of them as though they were entirely invisible! That was, everyone except for Captain Georg Von Trapp, who had apparently grown impatient after all and had come back inside in search of his governess.

Maria watched, helpless, as her employer's eyes scoured the vicinity from the front doors and then immediately fell upon the pickle she'd somehow managed to get herself into. She tried to defuse the situation by casting him a hapless shrug, but to no avail. The impatience on his face quickly morphed into comprehension — then cold fury — and without a moment's hesitation, he began charging towards her, parting the crowd in front of him like a knife through butter.

_Oh God._

Too busy bickering, wrenching her poor coat this way and that, Maria's two admirers were entirely oblivious to the far more immediate threat that thundered ever closer. And then, before Maria had a chance to even catch her breath, the captain was upon them, his very presence commanding such an eerie hush that she wondered whether he had the power to stop time as well.

Both boys paled instantly upon his arrival, and Maria could've sworn she heard Jacques mutter a strangled curse upon recognising the scowling villain that suddenly loomed over them. Without so much as a single word, the captain extended his broad palm with an icy glare, and the effect of the silent command was as immediate as the time he'd banished Maria from his ballroom. The dark-haired youth took one look at the proffered hand and hastily stuffed Maria's jacket into it, his ears turning pink.

"Alright, you've had your fun," the captain clipped with equal parts ice and fire, "now get out."

Hardly needing to be told twice, the boys scurried away, ignorant to Maria's feeble attempt to call after them with an apology. Suddenly embarrassed, and inexplicably livid, she rounded on the man who seemed to be the source of all her joy and simultaneous fury.

"Captain—"

"You're welcome," he interrupted curtly, "Now, here," he shook the coat out for her to put on, "Our taxi's waiting."

She stared at the garment as if it were poison.

"_Welcome_?" She hissed, wrestling free of his impatient attempts to dress her, "That was... I'm... you just _humiliated_ me!"

He at least had the good grace to look utterly shocked.

"_Humiliated_ you?!" He spat in disbelief, "I have a feeling those boys wanted to do far worse! It doesn't take much to encourage men like—"

"_Encourage_?!" She fumed, incredulous, "I didn't do a _thing_ to—"

"You don't have to," he remarked, and then quickly closed his mouth before he could say anything considerably more telling, "My point is, I was _helping_ you, Fraulein, not humiliating you!"

"I did not _need_ your help!" She retorted hotly, mortified to feel angry tears beginning to burn at her throat, "you may as well have blown your silly whistle across the room to summon me!"

"I would've done exactly that if there was even the slightest chance you'd obey it!" He snapped coolly.

"I could've handled them just fine on my own!" she protested vehemently. Why did everyone in her life insist on treating her like a frightened little girl who couldn't last five seconds beyond the abbey walls? It was utterly denigrating. And she'd thought, after everything she and the captain had shared of late, that he knew her better than that by now. Apparently she had thought wrong.

"Oh ho, you really have no idea, do you!" he dismissed on a scoff, "Now would you just—"

But she didn't allow him to finish. Instead, she barged past him, completely ignoring his incredulous protest and the way he barked after her, the lifeless coat still clutched in his fists. Of course, his legs were far longer than hers and he managed to catch up with her just as she burst angrily out onto the street, turning this way and that to decide on a direction in which to storm off. Luckily, the majority of the opera's patrons had dissipated, already having taken their leave some time ago — but the few that still milled about the streets had begun to notice the bizarre scene unfolding in front of them: Captain Von Trapp of the Austo-Hungarian Imperial Navy calling angrily after an unidentified young sprite in a flowing ivory dress.

Amongst the little audience was Herr Detweiler, whose eyes darted awkwardly between the pair.

"Uh.. should I hold the cab?" He asked them tentatively, gesturing to a nearby car where the little ones were waiting dutifully, "Elsa and the eldest have already left in theirs..."

"That's not a problem Herr Detweiler, I'll walk!" Maria announced sharply, before whirling on the spot and marching in completely the opposite direction.

"Fraulein, you will come back here _this instant_!" She heard the captain bellow from somewhere behind her, but she stomped resolutely on, feeling just as irate and stubborn — if not more so — than the day she'd quarrelled with him by the lake. He was the most patronising, most infuriating, most insufferable man she had ever met! And he was apparently the most stubborn as well, because he was suddenly marching right there alongside her.

"You cannot _walk_ back, it's far too dangerous!" He barked as they continued their bizarre game of cat and mouse all the way up the street, "do you even know the way?"

"I can take care of myself!" She snapped, keeping her eyes fixed firmly ahead, no longer caring that she was committing such an unspeakable insubordination. It hadn't stopped her by the lakeside all those weeks ago and it wasn't going to stop her now!

"The hotel is miles away, it will take you hours," he bit back in exasperation, "And besides, it's about to rain!"

Sure enough, as though his very words had the power to command it, the heavens opened, lashing tepid rain down upon them with the smell of earthy dew as the heat of the last few days finally decided to break. Maria almost laughed hysterically at the irony of it all — the fact that he still held her much-needed coat while she markedly refused to take it, becoming all the more drenched as the seconds went by — and again the parallels between _this_ moment and their lakeside feud did not escape her notice. Just like back then, her hair was plastered to her forehead and her skin was slick with water, her dress heavy on her skin, but still she refused to back down.

At a loss, Georg tried a different tact, one that had never failed him in the navy.

"Need I remind you, Fraulein, that you are under my command?!"

It was the wrong thing to say, of course, and she rounded on him so abruptly that their torsos almost collided. Instinctively, he gripped her shoulders to steady her, and it was then that he noticed, much to his dismay, that ivory chiffon was apparently inclined to go as sheer as tissue paper when wet. He wrenched his hands from her bare skin as though he'd been burned.

"I am under your _employ_!" she seethed, "not your command! I am not one of your cadets captain, nor am I a child!"

"A _child_?" He snorted, "You may be many things, Fraulein Maria, but not once have I _ever_ considered you to be a child!"

"Then what _am_ I exactly?" she hissed venomously. She'd meant for the scathing question to be a rhetorical one really, just to try and put _him_ on the spot for once — but his resulting answer was as simple as it was shocking.

"_Mine_!" he spat through the rain on an impulse — and it appeared he was as stupefied as she was by the confession, because he visibly paled before hastily correcting himself, "That is, my uh.. my _employee_," he amended, "My _responsibility_. I promised the Reverend mother I would do everything I could to look after your well-being and that's exactly what I've been trying to do!" he swiped the sopping hair from his forehead in apparent agitation, "Now will you _please_ just get in the taxi so we can all go home and change into something considerably less wet!"

By now, her anger towards him had somehow drained away with the downpour, and she simply stared at him, stunned, trying to make sense of the expression in his eyes. Rain lashed upon him, his chest heaved — and though he was donned from head to toe in coat and tails, the layers of the aristocrat seemed to gradually rinse away, leaving only a man who looked rather miserable, actually.

"Fraulein," he sighed, all the fight having apparently left him too, "please."

Begrudgingly she nodded and fell into a dutiful step beside him as they made their way back to the taxi in a rather tense silence. Much to her distress, she had no choice but to wedge herself into the back of the vehicle right there next to him, and since her youngest charges had fallen asleep, there was nothing to distract her from the way their sodden thighs nestled against one another in the darkness.

Mercifully, Herr Detweiler had decided to pointedly ignore the obvious elephant in the room, as though it was entirely commonplace to be stuck in a cab with three sleeping children, a sopping wet sea captain and a fuming nun-to-be. In fact, the man decided to go one step beyond the call of duty, taking it upon himself to diffuse the suffocating tension by babbling incessantly about the performance for the entirety of their journey back.

"I can't decide what was better, the orchestra or the vocalists themselves. That's exactly the kind of talent I need to exploit...I mean, _discover_... for myself, particularly before that little weasel Sacha Petrie has a chance to get there first. I think I might have to return to Paris before the year is through, you know. This kind of performance just never goes out of _style_, does it — marvellous, fresh, original—"

It would've been obvious to any keen observer that neither of the impresario's conscious travel companions was listening, one of them busying himself with stroking Gretl's hair, a heavy scowl marring his brow, while the other distracted herself by scowling stubbornly out of the window. Indeed Max wasn't sure what would make for a more accurate assessment of the situation: that they wanted to tear at each other's _throats_, or at each other's _clothes_.

When they finally arrived back at the suite, Maria wanted nothing more than to escape to the safety of her bedroom, away from the haunting look she'd seen in his eyes, but she was carrying a sleeping Gretl in her arms. An equally exhausted Marta was being cradled by her father in a similar manner, and so she reluctantly followed her employer into the girls' bedroom while Herr Detweiler took care of Kurt. Wordlessly, she and the captain worked in tandem to prep his sleeping daughters for bed, pulling arms through nightgowns, brushing hair out of eyes, drawing back the bedcovers, - even while the air still crackled between them with equal parts rage and... and she had no idea _what_. There was, however, one thing she knew for certain: she would not get one wink of sleep tonight.

* * *

It was a considerable amount of time later that Georg, shaken and exhausted, finally bid his governess a stiff goodnight and ventured back into the lounge to pour himself a sizeable whisky. Perhaps unsurprisingly, he discovered Elsa there, apparently having emerged from her room just long enough to interrogate him.

"Good heavens, Georg!" she exclaimed, taking one look at his sodden clothes and dripping hair with something akin to horror, "you were right behind us. What on Earth happened to you?"

He knocked back the burning amber liquid in one mouthful.

"Car trouble," he spat.

* * *

**A/N: I think the tension in this one has made it my favourite chapter to write yet! I couldn't resist the argument in the rain, even though it's probably quite cliche **


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: Thank you so much again for your lovely reviews. I hope you enjoy this next chapter - their week is gradually coming to an end. As always, I love hearing your thoughts.**

* * *

**Chapter 8**

Perhaps unsurprisingly, he dreamt of her that night. And while it wasn't the first time her vexing image had harassed him in slumber, it was certainly the first time his subconscious mind chose to paint her as a Parisian damsel. She wore no habit, no wimple (though it was hard enough, even when awake, to imagine her in such clothing!) - she wasn't even sporting one of her favoured dirndls, nor the translucent dress from the opera. Instead, he could see a swathe of blue, a flow of chiffon that reminded him of the gentle ripples of his lake back in Aigen.

The streets were indistinct with a dreamlike haze, the way chalk smudges across blackboard or rainbows bleed into the sky - but he thought he might recognise the quaint cobblestones and flowing blossom trees as belonging to the Montmartre district. Of course she would be here, in his favourite part of the city - where else would his mind's eye paint her? With the gold of the afternoon sun kissing her hair and an awed smile illuminating her features, she made for the perfect _mademoiselle_. Faceless passersby returned her jubilant '_bonjours_' as she walked among them, and he observed from afar, taking a very private pleasure in watching her guileless joy.

_Paris would love the girl as much as the girl would love Paris._ There was never a truer word said, he had to admit to himself. She was made for this bewitching place, where every nook and cranny was purely remarkable in its simplicity and simultaneous grandeur.

He wagered he would find contentment in watching her forever, and indeed it could've been long hours or mere seconds later that she suddenly looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with him. That small act alone was enough to make his breath catch, but then her awed smile faded and the delight in her gaze shifted, replaced instead with cold blue fury.

All of a sudden their setting changed, the way one scene from a dream smudges into the next, and they were shrouded in the inky blackness of night, rain lashing down upon them in the streets of central Paris.

Her fists were clenched in anger, her voice raised on an echo, _"I'll walk, captain!"_

Fury leapt at his chest too as she marched away from him, and the air seemed to crackle with the sharp hum of electricity, _"Fraulein, you will come back here this instant!"_

He reached for her wrist to try and stop her, but she wrested it away, whirling to face him.

_"I am not a child!"_

No. No she was not a child — far from it. She was a _woman_, in every sense of the word. The kind of woman that left him aching and twisted with want. The kind of woman who was looking at him with something so fervid, raw, open and urgent that it simply set him on fire.

_"Then I won't treat you like one!"_ — and with that, he closed the gap between them in one rampant stride, crushing her sodden body to his and finding her mouth in a torrid, feverish embrace. Her fleeting attempts to shove angrily away from him soon gave way to need; she became pliant in his arms, her hands snaking urgently around his neck — and then there was nothing, save for the potent tangle of lips and tongues and desperation...

He couldn't recall how they got back to the hotel, and he could hardly bring himself to care. For him, there was no vivid detailing, only poignant sensation - the silken press of a body against his, and the delicate taste of broken whimpers on his mouth.

When Georg finally jolted awake, it was with a racing pulse and a shortness of breath, though he couldn't for the life of him remember what had so urgently wrenched him from sleep. Of course, it wasn't uncommon for him to wake in the night in a cold sweat, normally following a nightmare of some kind involving the war or his Agathe - sometimes _both_. Such visions always clung to his memory like parasites, no matter how much he wished to forget them after waking. _This_ dream however, seemed to entirely evade him, leaving only a distinct yearning for something that he simply couldn't place.

It was a rather unsettling feeling — one that increased tenfold when he suddenly remembered the way he'd argued so brutally with his governess the night before. With an impatient growl, he kicked back the covers and threw on some clothes, suddenly wanting to escape the prison of his suite. Lost in thought, his feet moved with a mind of their own, and before he knew it he was standing outside the governess' bedroom, knuckles raised as though about to knock. Bewildered, he stared at the wood blankly for a moment as if waking from a trance. What the hell was he _doing_?!

Air... he needed air. With a disorientated shake of the head, he backed away from the door and hurried out into the lounge, stumbling towards the balcony. It was only then that he spotted her, standing beyond the french doors with her elbows resting on the wrought iron railing, gazing out onto the city below her. The breeze ruffled the skirts of her dress, and he realised she was wearing the lovely little blue thing he hadn't been able to take his eyes off of only a few short weeks ago.

Confused, his mind fought to dredge up some kind of echo or recollection evoked by that familiar swathe of blue; something above and beyond the night of the puppet show. But she'd only ever worn it the once, had she not? Unconsciously, he stepped toward her, trying and failing to pinpoint the memory - when suddenly she looked over her shoulder and locked eyes with him.

"Oh.." she remarked coldly, before adding with stinging irony, "_Bonjour_, Captain..."

_Bonjour... Montmartre...broken whimpers..._

His blood ran cold.

"What are you doing out here?" He demanded, perhaps a little more harshly than he'd intended. The fact was, he'd come to the balcony to find solitude, a safe haven where he could brood in peace before the rest of the world awoke. Instead, he'd found _her_ \- a reminder of taunting dreams, harsh words and young knaves who couldn't leave well alone.

"The sky was so blue," she shrugged coolly, refusing to meet his eye, "I wanted to be a part of it..."

_Blue indeed_, he thought bitterly, eyeing her dress and recalling vague images of cobblestones and cherry blossom. His fingers twitched in agitation, and she must've noticed his discomfort because her eyes suddenly flashed at him in exasperation.

"Look, Captain, if you've come out here looking for another argument then I—"

"Fraulein," he silenced her hastily, rubbing his ear in a moment of awkward sheepishness, "Perhaps we uh...Perhaps we'd better _talk_. About last night, I mean."

Her eyes narrowed and she didn't give him so much as an inch, "I'm listening," she challenged stubbornly, and suddenly he felt no better than a school boy. Why was it that this woman always seemed to have the upper hand with him?

"I'm uh.. well, I'm _sorry_," he fumbled, "For the way I behaved. I never meant to treat you like a child, Fräulein and I—"

He bit his tongue before he could say anything more revealing, but apparently his pathetic attempt to extend the olive branch had worked, because her face softened, her shoulders relaxed a little, and she merely sighed in defeat.

"You don't need to apologise, Captain. If anything I suppose _I_ ought to apologise to _you_. I did tell you I'm far too outspoken, it really is one of my worst faults."

He gave a light chuckle, decidedly relieved to have her talking to him again, "it appears we _both_ behaved badly."

She shrugged in response, "you were only watching over me, just as you'd promised to do. And I confess, I _did_ feel rather like a fish out of water!"

"Well you didn't look it, quite the contrary, in fact," he laughed before he could stop himself, "Max was right."

At the questioning look in her eye, he fought to find the right words to explain, feeling suddenly bashful.

"You..er.. that is, your _dress_," he fumbled, "Magnificent."

He watched, speechless, as the suspicion in her eyes gave way to surprise, and then morphed into pure unadulterated affection. It simply took his breath away. Did she have any idea what she was showing with a look like that?

"Thank you..." she whispered, her eyes holding his only momentarily before dropping in embarrassment. He thought she might shy away from him then, or perhaps excuse herself politely — but instead, quite unexpectedly, she began to giggle.

Stunned, he stared at her blankly, "hey now, what's so funny?"

She wiped a mirthful tear from her eye, "Oh it's nothing, captain," she snorted, "It's just, for a moment I thought you'd come out here to tell me the _balcony _is one of the many places that ought not to be disturbed!"

Oh she was a sassy one, his benedictine governess.

"Not at all!" he retorted defensively. Was he really that much of a tyrant in her eyes? "And besides," he smirked, despite himself, "Would you even follow such a simple instruction if that were the case?"

She pondered for a moment, "No, I suppose I wouldn't. Though I imagine even _you_ are not powerful enough to prohibit the great outdoors, Captain!"

A small bark of laughter.

"I think it would take a force greater than God himself to tear you from your mountain, Fraulein!"

How ironic then, that it would be the very walls of the abbey she loved so much that would prevent her from ever seeing the Untersberg again. It seemed they were both all too aware of the unsettling fact, because a prolonged silence fell between them after that, and her smile faltered just a little.

"I never thought I'd travel beyond Austria," she said wistfully some moments later, turning back to the view stretching before them as the sun rose above the rooftops, resting her elbows against the wrought iron balcony that curled and bent in an elegant pattern typical of the city's architecture, "and I likely never will again."

She knew she ought not to feel so... so _devastated_ by the prospect. There was a world out there, yes, but she was trading it in for a higher purpose: to dedicate her life to the God she loved. Why then, did she feel like a caged bird wanting to burst free of the iron in front of her and fly off into the sunrise? Perhaps her employer, in all his grief and loss, felt exactly the same. The only difference between them was that his cage was a gilded one.

"Would you come with me?" She didn't realise she'd muttered the private thought out loud until she heard her employer's confused reply.

"What was that, Fraulein?"

He sidled up to the balcony himself then, and filled the space next to her, watching her curiously. Inwardly, she cursed her running mouth and tried not to focus on the sudden burn in her cheeks.

"Nothing Captain, I just... " she sighed pensively, "do you ever wish you had wings?"

His brow knitted, "Like Icarus?"

"No," she laughed, "more like a dove."

He looked upon her face for a moment.

"Pray tell me, where would you fly to?"

"Oh _anywhere_!" She cried, "Everywhere! Just once - before I become cloistered."

"And yet you are not tempted to go out into the world? Even for a time?"

"Not all birds are meant to fly captain," she shrugged, trying to mask her melancholy, "This I have learnt to accept. That is, if I want to serve God."

He was silent for long moments, apparently deep in thought, and when he finally spoke again his voice had dropped an octave. The sound of it raised goosebumps on her skin.

"Don't give up your wings, Fraulein."

He was closer to her all of a sudden, so close that she could smell his earthy masculinity and hear the steadiness of his even breathing, "doves don't fare well behind stone walls."

Anticipation coiled in her chest at his words and his proximity. She stared at his long fingers clasped together atop the railing, willing herself to focus on their powerful elegance instead of looking upon his face for fear of what she might discover there. It was a mistake though, for the sight of his hands only brought with it a series of _other_ unwanted thoughts that made it difficult for her to breathe. But her trepidation apparently wasn't enough to keep her silent. It never was.

"Neither do sailors," she managed to rasp, and this time she _did_ look at him, despite herself. And it was to find that his eyes were already burning into her face, flickering with something akin to astonishment - and something else she refused to acknowledge. It was the subtlest of changes, but she had forced his mask to slip, she realised - and the resulting gaze they shared made the air grow thick and heavy, like the sweltering breath of a midsummer's day.

Just like the night of the puppet show, and the moment they'd shared by the piano, and even last night in the pouring rain, she was struck by a wave of new and wondrous feelings that robbed her of oxygen. It came on rapidly, the yearning desire to reach out and touch him, to smooth her fingertips down his cheek and along his jaw in silent comfort, to press her forehead to his and let her eyelids flutter closed. And perhaps in a moment of madness she would've dared to do exactly that, if it wasn't for the terrifying realisation that his own hand was sliding towards her along the railing and brushing against—

"Father? Fraulein Maria?"

They jumped apart instantly to find little Gretl standing in the open doorway, rubbing her eyes in sleepy confusion - a harsh reminder of where they were and who they were supposed to be. Flustered by the interruption, Maria took a shuddering breath and immediately went to the girl, pulling her gratefully into a gentle embrace. It was a blessing in disguise, she knew — a sign from God that she had been about to embarrass herself beyond any chance of redemption. What had she been _thinking_!

"I best tend to the children, captain," she said, with a breeziness she didn't quite feel, "the other six will be up and about in no time!"

"Yes, yes of course!" he hastened to reassure her, his voice sounding so unnatural in its casualness. She was escaping, he knew — reverting back to their only safe topic of conversation: the children, "I will see you all at breakfast then, Fraulein." Somehow the formal address tasted stale on his tongue.

She gave a nod, and it was only once she'd scurried from sight that Georg turned back to the view of the city, allowing his thoughts free reign for a minute or two. Their fleeting moment of folly had left him thoroughly shaken, and with good reason. It had brought screeching to the surface truths that he had thus far been trying to ignore. Why was it so hard to assign conviction to the promises he'd made to himself, he wondered. At every turn he'd endeavoured to keep his thoughts in check, and at every turn he'd _failed_ to do so. His path was as much as decided for him, and yet, for the first time in his life his ship refused to stay on its assigned course.

In vain, he grappled for a logical reason, an understandable explanation for his turbulent behaviour. But he could find none. None that he was willing to take heed of, anyway. There was one thing though, that he would allow himself to admit, in his vulnerable state, hoping it would somehow help ease the burden that he could feel heavy in his chest. It was a truth he was simply too exhausted to deny anymore.

_He desired his children's governess._ More than a mere curiosity, more than a fleeting infatuation, he wanted her perhaps more than he'd ever wanted any other woman before. And why? It was precisely because he _couldn't have her_. There had been many women in his past, yes — before his marriage and then once or twice after. And every single one of those women had been his for the taking, offering themselves to him with very little effort, nor even much enthusiasm, on his part. Fraulein Maria though, was saying and doing all the right things to entice him, taking root in his head and his very body — only, she was completely out of his reach. An innocent. A future nun! She had no idea of the effect she was having on him, and would most likely run for the hills if she ever found out.

Lust. He was more than familiar with the deadly sin, though he could probably count on one hand the number of times he'd felt it so strongly during his life. Had the fraulein ever experienced it? he wondered. That burning, passionate, _basic_ need so thoroughly intrinsic to human nature? And would she even recognise it if she had? Whether she was aware of it or not though, Fraulein Maria was capable of a passion that no nun should _ever_ entertain — and he knew it. It was obvious in the way her eyes burned, in the way her breath caught whenever they found themselves looking at each other. And despite himself, the very idea stirred him deeply, so much so that his knuckles bleached where they gripped the railings in front of him.

Yes, he lusted after her. Somehow the admission made him feel a little better, though the guilt still gnawed at him. Perhaps in acknowledging such a weakness, he would now be able to see it for what it was: a purely _physical_ need that, at some point down the line, he'd allowed to effect his better judgement. _But no more_, he decided firmly. Enough was enough. _Desire her if you must, lust after her from a distance. But do not seek her attentions, nor encourage her guileless smiles. Reserve your sins for your thoughts alone_ (as if that wasn't bad enough!) _in the hope that it might bring you relief. You can, and will, control this forbidden attraction, even if it kills you._

Later, when the rest of the group had risen from bed and were merrily tucking into their breakfast, Georg chose instead to take his coffee on the sofa, well away from haunting blue eyes and telling blushes. It wasn't until Max probed him with a seemingly innocent question however, that he realised just how much his dream had impacted upon his sanity.

"Alas, we travel home tomorrow," the impresario pointed out forlornly, "where do you propose we spend our last day, Georg?"

The word was out of his mouth before he'd even realised he was speaking.

"Montmartre."


	10. Chapter 10

**Chapter 9**

It was perhaps her favourite place in the city yet, Maria decided, as she and the children idled up the Montmartre hill with the captain, baroness Shraeder and Herr Detweiler lagging not too far behind them. They were taking the walk at a leisurely pace, and she was glad of it, because it meant that she could enjoy the attack on her senses along the way. It wasn't until they reached the very submit and she laid eyes on Sacre Coeur however, that she felt her heart swell with wonder.

Quite simply, she was awed by the monument's magnificence, the sacred heart of Paris poised proudly at the highest point in the city, watching over her people with stoic majesty. Engrossed, she stood there for long minutes amidst the vast crowds, staring up at the architecture in all its breathtaking splendour. Spellbound as she was however, she was even less prepared for the sight that greeted her when she eventually turned around — a sight that couldn't be more different to the basilica in front of her.

The city's skyline stretched out before her in panoramic watercolour, the minuscule Parisian rooftops spreading to the ends of the earth and back again. On one side of the landscape was the Eiffel Tower, so far away that it looked more like the little ornament back in her hotel room. On the other side was the two towers of Notre Dame, glowing honeyed in the afternoon sun. There was the river too, snaking like a shoestring through the length of the canvas, and the only indication that the whole thing wasn't a painting was the birds flying gracefully overhead.

But it was not the city, nor its skyline that rendered her immobile, she had to confess. No — it was the man she discovered admiring it.

Captain Von Trapp was enjoying a moment of introspection, and quite simply, the sight of him took her breath away. Leaning an elbow against the stone wall behind him, he was looking out onto the view and then turned to observe the basilica, his strong chin raised and his blue eyes pensive. The crowd milled about him in their haste to get wherever they wanted to go, but they were mere faceless phantoms that bled into the background of his striking portrait. A light breeze danced over his hair and open collar, a sight that Maria should've been well used to by now — and yet her stomach tightened all the same.

_It's his eyes_, she realised quite suddenly, resisting the urge to clutch at her abdomen, _his eyes tell so many stories it's just impossible to look away._

It was true, she mused as she watched him discreetly — those eyes had once been so cold, so piercing, so angry in all their steely blue angst. And yet they'd softened impossibly on the day that he'd apologised at the bottom of the stairs, only to grow warmer still on the evening that he'd sung Edelweiss to his children. To _her_. If she had to pinpoint a moment in which everything had started to change, _that_ would be it, she allowed herself to admit. The moment she'd started to see the captain for the man he really was. Since then, she'd been arrested by those eyes in every shade of emotion — rage, turmoil, curiosity, amusement, mischief — and something else she dared not name.

Quite without warning, those very same eyes dropped from the basilica and locked with hers.

She was knocked momentarily breathless by the intensity of his stare and her first instinct was to look away before he caught the sudden blush colouring her cheeks. But he held her gaze mercilessly, to the point that she was entirely unable to avert her eyes. Why did he always have to catch her off guard like that? Did he know she'd been staring the whole time? Instantly, her mind cast itself back to the moment they'd shared on the balcony — but no, she would not think about that, not now. Not yet. They'd been avoiding each other ever since — even she, in all her naivety, was aware of that fact — and yet here they were, falling down the rabbit hole all over again.

Much to her relief and simultaneous disappointment, the spell was abruptly broken by the sudden appearance of the baroness at the captain's side, her perfectly manicured hand clutching at his forearm. Maria held her breath, confronted with a prickle of shame for her indiscretion, but by a stroke of luck it seemed the baroness hadn't spotted her. The captain too seemed to snap to attention upon her arrival, a look of bewilderment flitting across his face as though he'd momentarily forgotten where he was. Maria watched mutely as they exchanged a few muttered words and then moved away from the wall, disappearing into the throng without a backward glance.

Shaking herself as though waking from a daze, Maria cast about for the distraction of her charges, finding them just a few metres away engrossed in a performance by an enthusiastic street puppeteer who was commandeering some soulless characters on strings. Smiling to herself, she went to join them, noting that Herr Detweiler had also taken a keen interest in the performer's unique talents.

"Marvellous!" he chuckled to himself, "just marvellous! Though they don't hold a candle to your little lonely goatherds, do they children?"

"Indeed Max, I don't think you'll ever catch a Parisian _yodelling_," the captain's deep voice quipped from somewhere behind them. Where on Earth had he appeared from?! Maria wondered, thoroughly shaken by his sudden proximity. It was only a few moments ago she'd lost sight of him! And she hadn't yet had a chance to gather her composure.

"Well with a performance like the children's, I won't _need_ a Parisian," Herr Detweiler retorted smugly, "it'll be an act the likes of which the Salzburg Folk Festival has never s—"

At that precise moment, the children were overcome with a serious bout of exaggerated coughing that silenced their uncle instantly — and it was just as well, for the captain's face had darkened with a particularly dangerous shadow that Maria recognised all too readily.

* * *

Baroness Elsa Shraeder was not a particularly self-absorbed woman, despite her aristocratic background and privileged upbringing. She was, of course, easily swept up in the somewhat artificial whirlwind of high-society gossip when the scandals were just too delicious to ignore - but that did not make her ignorant to the trials and tribulations of those closest to her. It did not mean that she was blind to the telltale signs of an internal conflict, nor did it mean that she was the type of woman to sit back and do nothing about it.

She'd kept quiet up until now, watching from afar as Georg slipped through her perfectly manicured clutches. Even before they'd set foot on Parisian soil, she'd begun to notice the bizarre... _change_ in her intended and had initially put it down to the way he'd reconnected, quite unexpectedly, with his children. But no. The little dears had had absolutely nothing to do with it, she realised that now. And she also knew that, soon enough, something would simply have to be done.

The way they sometimes _looked_ at each other! It was enough to make her want to retch into her cafe au lait. The heat, the longing - it was all so painfully obvious to everyone but the two of them - or so it appeared. The poor girl would be oblivious, of course - or at the very least she would be confused by what she was feeling. But Georg, he was harder to analyse - perhaps he knew exactly what was happening between them but was just too much of a gentleman to admit it, even to himself. All Elsa knew was that his relationship with the little governess was becoming troublesome at best, and scandalously inappropriate at worst.

And it appeared that no amount of swanning about in his favourite Parisian haunts from times past was going to restore the man she'd grown to love in Vienna - the man who soaked himself in champagne and waltzed about to strausses he couldn't even remember. She found she could barely recall that same man now that she'd spent so many weeks in his home - his natural habitat, as he'd referred to it - and now, he was even more of an enigma in the French capital.

She'd once told him that he was becoming far less of a riddle, but as time had gone by it had become startlingly apparent that such an observation simply wasn't true. He was changing before her very eyes into someone she hardly knew, here with his children.. here with _her_. And the Machiavellian in her simply would not stand for it. No, Elsa Shraeder knew now that an intervention would be absolutely necessary if this ridiculous charade continued once they returned to Aigen. It was beneath her, perhaps, even cruel in some respects - but a necessity nonetheless. Georg would thank her for it in the end, she was sure of that.

Inevitably, her gaze fell upon the subject of her concerns then, looking handsome as ever as he drank in the cobbled streets, vivid colours and quaint cafes of Montmartre, his seven children in tow. They'd been blessed with another glorious day of sunshine and it only added to Georg's lethal appeal, she noticed. His hair shone chestnut, his eyes sparkled a playful blue, and his open collar gave him a rogue-ish finish that made her just a little breathless.

In truth, he really was devastating when he was like this — and it appeared she wasn't the only woman to think so, she realised, as she caught the fraulein's eyes straying in Georg's direction again. Blessedly though, the governess and the master of the house seemed to have been keeping an appropriate distance from each other for once, though she was skeptical as to how long their newly found restraint would last. No matter how much she tried to ignore it, they always seemed to gravitate back to one another. _Oh Georg,_ she sighed inwardly, _what are we going to do about you?_

"I think it's about time we treated ourselves to a refreshment, my darlings," Max's fiendish announcement had the power to cheer Elsa up immensely.

"Oh ho, I thought you'd never ask, Max!" Georg quipped, sidling up beside Elsa and wrapping an arm firmly around her shoulder. Even while she inwardly fumed over the unpleasant nature of her thoughts, she still found herself glowing under his attentions.

"I know of a gorgeous little place just around the corner," she simpered, pressing herself closer to Georg and laying a palm intimately against his chest. Yes, she thought smugly, this was more like it! If she was given half the chance, she would make sure Georg Von Trapp forgot all about the spritely little _inconvenience_ from Nonnberg abbey, "they serve the most delicious Aperol Spritz I've ever tasted."

"Fine liquor and even finer company," Georg winked at her pointedly — and despite herself, she felt a titter of laughter bubble from her throat. _This_ was the man she knew from her glittering salons, she reassured herself with something akin to relief. He was still here after all — _her_ Georg, the man who flirted shamelessly with her, who loved nothing more than a good drink and an intricate Viennese waltz. Her heart felt a little lighter just at the thought. Yes, she smiled inwardly to herself, things were looking up already.

* * *

The _gorgeous little place_ the baroness had suggested turned out to be a luxuriously expensive restaurant carved elegantly into the weathered stone walls, with white tablecloths, endless silverware and beautiful bougainvillea spilling down the brickwork. Indeed Maria had never felt more out of place, but a quick glance towards Leisl reassured her that she would at least be in safe hands.

"Just follow my lead with the forks, Fraulein," the girl whispered under her breath as a nearby waiter cast them an unimpressed look. They'd scarcely sat down before the very same waiter swept over to take their order and then returned mere moments later with a tray of impossibly orange cocktails. Aghast, Maria stared at the seemingly florescent liquid, concluding that the normally rather intimidating captain Von Trapp looked utterly ridiculous taking a dainty sip from the little straw. Finding herself no longer quite so on edge in his presence, she tried, quite unsuccessfully, to bite back a giggle at the sight.

He must've heard the muffled sound, for he froze with the drink at his lips, his eyes narrowing in her direction. But before he could utter a single word, a striking middle-aged brunette suddenly approached the table as if from nowhere, grasping at the baroness's arm.

"Elsa?" She exclaimed, "Elsa Shraeder, is that you?"

The baroness's eyes widened, "Helena!" she gasped, "what on _earth_!"

The two women embraced fondly, cooing and simpering over the unlikelihood of banging into one another _here_ of all places.

"What in God's name are you doing in Paris?" Baroness Shraeder insisted.

"Gerda and I are on our holidays," her friend clarified brightly, "We felt like getting out of London just for a short time. We're on a table over there," she gestured vaguely to the other side of the restaurant, "you _must_ come and join us for a drink! That is, if we aren't tearing you away from your company…?"

Her eyes slid suggestively towards the tableful of people watching them, and Maria noted the way her gaze lingered momentarily on the captain.

"Oh, I'm sorry," baroness Shraeder took the not-so-subtle hint, "do allow me to introduce you. Helena darling, these are my… my _friends_, Maximilian Detweiler and Captain Georg von Trapp."

It was unsurprising to Maria that she and the children didn't get so much as a mention.

"I've heard so much about you, captain," Helena gushed, leaning dramatically over the table so the captain could take her hand, "it's a pleasure to meet you."

"The pleasure is all mine, I assure you," the captain replied robotically, barely raising his eyes from his drink.

"I know Helena and her sister Gerda from many moons ago," the baroness explained fondly, "back when I spent six months in England."

"Come and join us for just one drink, Elsa," her friend insisted, apparently no longer interested in the table of acquaintances, "Gerda will be so thrilled to see you!"

"Oh I couldn't possibly—" baroness Shraeder began, turning pointedly to the captain, who merely flashed them both a disarming grin.

"Please ladies, don't stand on ceremony for my benefit," he offered charmingly, pressing a hand to his chest, "I would love nothing more than for you to take the opportunity for a little _tête-à-tête_. We are in Paris, after all."

Maria fought to roll her eyes as the two women shared a witless giggle.

"Well if you're sure," Elsa simpered, squeezing the captain's shoulder, "I shan't be long, darling!"

"It was a pleasure to meet you, Captain," Helena commented with a particularly triumphant smile. And with that, the two women sauntered away arm in arm, their heads close together as they gossiped conspiratorially under their breaths. She couldn't be entirely sure, but Maria could've sworn she heard a scandalised exclamation of "_seven_?!" just as they fell out of earshot.

"I can't help but wonder," Herr Detweiler commented wryly, "whether women would throw themselves across tables just to shake _my_ hand, if I too had a title."

"I wouldn't count on it, uncle Max," Friedrich consoled gravely, just as the captain almost choked on his spritz.

Mercifully, their food arrived moments later and with no sign of the baroness returning, Herr Detweiler took it upon himself to tuck into both his plate and hers with impressive gusto. Warily, Maria cast her eyes around the table to see which cutlery everyone else had picked up and it was then that she became distracted by the bizarre formation of food on the captain's plate beside her. So engrossed so was in trying to work out what it might be, that she hadn't noticed the way her employer was watching her with something akin to amusement.

"It's escargot," he clarified, popping one playfully into his mouth.

"Escar-what?"

"_Snails_, Fraulein," Louisa grinned slyly from across the table.

"Snails?!" she squeaked, her hand rising to her throat.

"It's a delicacy, over here," the captain explained on a chuckle, "You should try it, it's really quite delicious."

"Oh I don't think so, Captain," she wrinkled her nose.

"Don't be ridiculous, Fräulein it's perfectly harmless!" He insisted, "Here."

On an ill-judged impulse, but one that felt dangerously commonplace, Georg speared a snail and offered her his fork. Momentarily bewildered, Maria simply stared at the morsel suspended in midair between them, much like the unspoken words they never dared to exchange. It could've been mere seconds or long minutes later, but eventually she simply shrugged and leaned in, taking the supposed delicacy into her mouth. Perhaps they'd both gone quite mad, she considered, but for a fleeting moment it felt as though there was nothing more natural in the world than having this man feed her a little bite of food from his fork, all efforts to avoid one another apparently forgotten.

"Well?" he grinned, waiting for her reaction as he lowered the fork again.

She rolled the morsel around on her tongue experimentally for a moment.

"It's… not as bad as I thought!" She conceded in surprise, "_better_ than I thought, in fact."

"I told you," he laughed in triumph, "it's a delicacy for a reason! I put it down to the copious amounts of garlic butter."

"It's not quite as good as schnitzel, mind you," she couldn't help but tease.

"Ah yes, well that goes without saying!"

Sharing a grin, they turned back to the table only to find the entire group staring at them, eyes wide with sheer astonishment. Herr Detweiler in particular looked as though he'd just witnessed the captain sweep the table clear of the china and throw her unceremoniously atop it! It was only then that Maria realised the immense impropriety of their seemingly casual exchange and it appeared the captain had noticed it too, for the blood had suddenly drained from his face. Flushing a deep shade of crimson, she fixed her gaze to the dish in front of her and resolutely avoided anymore eye contact from around the table. Thank God the baroness had not been witness to their idiocy!

Much to his chagrin, Georg could feel his friend's eyes burning into him on his left side, but he pretended to be too preoccupied with his cocktail to notice.

"How _fascinating_," the impresario muttered innocently, loud enough for only Georg to hear.

"What's fascinating?" Georg gritted, already dreading the answer.

"I'd just never have guessed that _escargot_ was an aphrodisiac!"

This time, Georg really _did_ choke on his Spritz.

* * *

**A/N: I know you're all probably getting sick of the slow burn so I really do appreciate those who are still with me. This one was always meant to be a canon filler before the party but I hope I'm still keeping it interesting. On another note, I've no idea if aperol spritz even existed back in those day but I have one every time I visit Europe because I think they're just delicious. Anyway, as always your thoughts mean the world.**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Here it is, the final day of their trip. Thank you again for your lovely feedback.**

* * *

**Chapter 10**

It had been perhaps one of the most interesting trips of Max Detweiler's lifetime, he admitted to himself gleefully, as they finished the remainder of their drinks outside the luxurious restaurant Elsa had picked out for them. Perhaps even _more_ interesting than some of the trips he'd embarked upon during his brief stint in the navy! At least here there was an endless stream of cafes, beautiful architecture, glorious sunshine, drinks on tap, and not a single u-boat in sight. Indeed he could get used to this, he considered brightly, leaning back in his seat and taking in the splendid scenery that surrounded them: weathered stone, narrow streets, colourful umbrellas and rich bougainvillea spilling out from iron balconies.

But by far the most entertaining aspect of their Parisian rendezvous — and something that had become one of Max's favourite pastimes of late — was watching his oldest friend battle his forbidden attraction to the family governess. It was all harmless fun really, or at least he hoped so. Georg would never actually _act_ on such an attraction and Elsa, while not exactly oblivious to the threat, could nevertheless handle herself just fine when it came to the concept of potential _competition_.

_"Well?"_

_"Well what?"_

_"Have you made up Georg's mind yet? Do I hear wedding bells?"_

_"Pealing madly!"_

_"Marvellous..."_

_"But not necessarily for me."_

_"What kind of talk's that?"_

_"That's none-of-your-business talk, Max. I'm terribly fond of Georg and I will not have you toying with us."_

_"But I'm a child, I like toys! So tell me everything. Come on. Tell me every teensy-weensy, intimate, disgusting detail."_

_"Well, let's just say I have a feeling I may be here on approval."_

_"I approve of that. How can you miss?"_

_"Far too easily."_

_"If I know you, darling, and I do, you will find a way."_

Yes, if he knew Elsa Shraeder, she would already be scheming her way to a blissful happy-ever-after. One that made no room for wayward governesses and seven spirited children. It would certainly be a great thing, to keep all that lovely money in the family with a match that was not only logical, but already as good as cemented in the highest circles of the Austrian aristocracy. All Max had to do was sit back, sip on his Aperol Spritz, and enjoy the remainder of his entertaining summer.

* * *

Their picture-perfect outing to Montmarte was concluded later that evening with an even more perfect boat ride along the Seine, just as the sun was beginning to drop low enough in the sky to paint the city in a warm honeyed glow. Georg was congratulating himself not only on his choice of activity, but also for the fact that - save perhaps for the _unfortunate little slip_ _up_ at the restaurant - he'd managed to keep his distance from the Fraulein for most of the day, instead focusing his attentions firmly where they belonged: with his future bride. And he already felt better for it, having successfully exercised that unwavering self-control for which he was so well renowned.

It was perhaps for that reason that he decided to reward himself, by allowing his gaze to wander over to his governess - just for a fleeting moment. She was taking some time to herself at the boat's stern, he noticed, looking out over the water with that far away expression on her face. A light breeze encircled her then, and it ruffled the folds of her dress, made the halo of her hair dance around her face, though she herself remained still as a statue.

Whether he was ready to admit it or not, Georg knew her now perhaps more than she even knew herself. He knew that she took noodles with her schnitzel, that she was frightened of horses, that she could speak french, that she had a surprisingly fiery temper — these things he had learnt about her quite quickly, once their truce had been formed. But he had learnt _other_ things too, things that she hadn't told anyone else, not even the Reverend Mother. Things about her wicked childhood, about her fear of failure, about her desire to see the world beyond the abbey walls.

It had become second nature to him, he realised, to decipher what she might be thinking just by looking at her. Even from the very first moments of their acquaintance, she'd worn her heart on her sleeve for him to see, and he had looked upon it with selfish recklessness. But his talent for telepathy seemed to be evading him now because, for once, he could not read her, and he suddenly found himself longing to know what was running through that sharp mind of hers.

Did he intrude upon her thoughts quite as much as she did upon his? He couldn't be sure, not really. But there was one thing he knew damn well for certain. She did not belong in that convent. And the maverick in him wanted to cut across the deck like the bow that parted the water beneath them, just so he could grab her up by the shoulders and shake some sense into her. _Doves don't fare well behind stone walls_ — he would've shouted their private proverb from port to starboard right there and then, if there was even the slightest chance that she might heed his words.

But she had reminded him repeatedly, throughout their odd little friendship, that her faith was unyielding, that her vocation was decided. There was nothing, she had fiercely insisted, that could tear her from God's path. Why then, did he find it so hard to believe her? The answer wasn't exactly difficult to determine: he'd seen the flicker of doubt in her eyes often enough to conclude that Fraulein Maria was almost as lost as he was.

They made for such an unlikely pair, he mused — and yet, they were similar in more ways than one. Perhaps that was why they'd made such a good team over the past few months. Just like him, she was unyieldingly stubborn, staunchly private, fiercely loyal and exceptionally righteous. Just like him, she could be wickedly scathing, cleverly quick-witted, and surprisingly perceptive. And just like him, she was struggling to make peace with the future she'd chosen for herself.

It was not however, something he would allow himself to dwell upon, he told himself strictly. Yes, their week spent in Paris had shed light on some truths that perhaps he would otherwise have remained oblivious to, but soon they would be back in Aigen and the status quo would be restored. He would go back to being the captain, and she just the governess — exactly as it should be. Hell, it wasn't like he harboured any feelings for the girl! Not the type of feelings that couldn't be easily extinguished with a bit of discipline and a cold shower, anyway. And it would've been madder still, to assume that she might be carrying a similar torch for him. With that comforting notion in mind, he turned his attentions back to the woman he had every intention of marrying.

"It really is _marvellous_ here, Georg," Elsa sighed, looking out across the water as the city stretched out like a carpet before them, "perhaps we could make it an annual trip?"

Ignoring the cold emptiness that gripped him when he thought about what his life might be like a year from now, Georg forced a chuckle instead.

"Oh-ho, do we not drown ourselves in enough champagne and decadence back in your glittering Vienesse salons, my dear?"

"And I'd just like to point out," Max suddenly appeared as if from nowhere to interrupt them, "I will not be giving up those glittering salons for _anybody_!"

"Max!" Elsa scolded on a laugh, as Georg only rolled his eyes, " You really are _outrageous_! Whoever said we'd be giving up Vienna!"

"Well I shan't be moving to Aigen, my darling, that much is for certain!" Max griped petulantly, "no matter how much you might miss me after…"

The impresario's sentence faded into silence, but the implication behind his words was all too clear to Georg. Just like everybody else within a fifty mile radius of their social circle, he expected there to be a marriage proposal, and _soon_. Luckily though, and much to his relief, Elsa brushed Max's little faux-pas under the rug with all the grace and elegance a life in the aristocracy had taught her.

"Don't let him tease you that way, Georg," she flashed him a coy smile, nudging him with her elbow, "If I recall, it should be _you_ who is in charge of _him_. We are on a boat after all, _captain_."

She'd said the title in jest of course, but it only made him think of his governess all over again and, much to his chagrin, he felt his pulse skip a beat. Would he ever be able to exorcise the little Fraulein from his mind? he wondered. The dangerous direction of his thoughts must've shown in the shadow that crossed his face then, for Elsa rounded on Max faster than a lioness on a gazelle.

"Oh _Max_, look what you've gone and done!" she pouted in mock outrage, "you've sent him into one of his awful black moods, and on our last day here too!"

Georg hastily replaced his scowl with an effortlessly glowing smile.

"On the contrary, darling, I don't think there's _anything_ Max Detweiler could possibly say to spoil my mood when here with you!"

The sly grin that the impresario sent his way told him the exact _opposite_ held true.

"And if all else fails," Georg added, shooting his friend a warning glare over the top of Elsa's unsuspecting head, "I'll throw the scoundrel overboard."

* * *

It might've been the case that Georg couldn't exorcise his governess from his thoughts, but unbeknownst to him, Maria too was struggling. And anyone with half a mind would be able to tell upon looking at the pair that there was another striking similarity between Captain Von Trapp and his spritely young governess — namely, their remarkable ability to determinedly ignore one's own feelings, no matter how obvious they might be. On her part, Maria was plagued by internal questions that she just couldn't lay to rest — and _one_ question in particular, that she'd been trying to avoid all day.

What in God's name had happened.. or _almost_ happened, on that balcony?

There had been a moment... one mad, impossible, _thrilling_ moment where she'd been convinced he was going to kiss her. But no, such a notion was ludicrous, she quickly censured herself. Men like him did not go around kissing their governesses! Her imagination was clearly running riot — sister Berthe was right, she spent too much time with her head in the clouds. And besides, she ought not to be thinking anything of the sort, given the fact that she was going to be a nun in less than a month's time. Not to mention the fact that her employer was as good as engaged. To a woman who would no doubt be the perfect embodiment of everything he could possibly want in a wife.

There it was again, that awful, burning lump in Maria's throat. Yes, Baroness Schraeder would fit the role perfectly, she admitted, watching the woman laugh elegantly at something the captain was muttering in her ear. And yet, did the baroness even _know_ the man standing by her side? Did she know that he liked one sugar in his tea, or that he preferred merlot to Malbec, or that he favoured Stravinsky over Debussy? _Maybe_. Did she know of his tendency for arrogance, or his penchant for brooding silences? _Perhaps_.

But was she attuned to the tension in his shoulders at the end of a long day, or the calm that overcame him when he watched his children? Did she know what his long fingers looked like when dancing along ivory keys, or the way they twitched when he was restless? Could she recognise the way his eyes ignited when he was up to no good, or the way they darkened when he was brooding? Did she realise, in all her worldly sophistication, that he was a man who harboured fierce emotion underneath that rigid, stoic exterior?

And, perhaps more importantly, did the woman even _care_?

Somehow, it seemed unlikely.

The very prospect was enough to make the lump in Maria's throat harden with worry. Because, quite aside from anything else, Georg von Trapp deserved _love_. He deserved _happiness_. Just like his children did. Heartache and sorrow had cast a shadow over his family for too long now. He needed the love of a woman who would never ask him to be less than he was, a woman who would be his bulwark, his anchor and his equal. A woman who understood that he had a past and would love him all the more for it. Deep in the recesses of her heart, she hoped that baroness Schraeder could be that woman for him.

And what would become of _her_, Maria? She wondered whether she would ever be the same, whether _they_ would ever be the same, after this surreal trip to Paris. It seemed _impossible_ now, to go back to the way things had been before. Whether she was willing to acknowledge it or not, they had sailed into uncharted waters, the boundaries of their relationship had been altered in a way that couldn't be undone. They knew each other in a way that perhaps no one else did now, she admitted to herself, letting her mutinous eyes find her employer once again.

She was perhaps unsurprised, by now, to find him looking at her in that way he so often did, and yet her lungs tightened all the same.

_Paris suites you,_ his little smile told her privately, _my Paris._

Suddenly unexplained tears fought for freedom behind her eyes, and she found she could no longer bear the sight of him. Tearing her gaze away, she looked out over the Seine instead, focusing on the chop and splash of the water caused by the boat's path, rather than the ache his gaze had evoked.

Perhaps _this_ was what the Reverend mother had been trying to tell her all along, she considered. There was a world outside of those abbey walls, and there were things that the noviciate expected of her that perhaps she had not been ready to expect of herself. But she had learnt, hadn't she? Through determination and sheer force of will, she'd fought against all the odds, had won seemingly impossible battles, and had overcome every single hurdle — save for _one_. And he was standing only a few feet away from her.

_The captain_. Her sentiments towards him were rather like the many complex nooks and crannies of Paris — unique, hidden, intricate and, in some cases, entirely prohibited. They had confused her, infuriated her, and thrilled her, yes — but in the end, they were nothing more than mere lessons to be learnt out here in the big wide world, before she committed her life to God. After all, if there was one thing her friendship with Georg Von Trapp had taught her, it was that disconcerting feelings could be stringently and stubbornly ignored where necessary.

It would all be fine when she returned to Aigen, and then inevitably, when she went back to Nonnberg, she reassured herself. The spell of Parisian summertime would be broken and their time spent together here would seem like nothing more than an elusive dream, a distant memory. Things would return to normal... whatever normal was in the company of an incorrigible sea captain, seven boisterous children, a charming sponge and a Viennese socialite!

She would not wish it away, for September would come around soon enough, and she would swallow down the doubt in her throat that arose every time she thought about taking her vows. Still, if she was lucky, perhaps God would see fit to allow her just one or two more glances through the looking glass before her time was up. The summer wasn't over yet, she told herself hopefully, looking out over the shadowing silhouette of Paris one last time. After all, there was still the grand and glorious party to look forward to...

* * *

**FIN**

**A/N: ahh poor Maria. She has no idea what's to come. But we all do, because we've seen the movie! So here endeth my little Parisian muse - the movie picks it up from here. I know some of you really wanted them to get together in this story and I'm sorry if I've disappointed you but I really wanted to try and write a cannon filler where they're falling in love but are still very much in denial about their feelings. And a story like that has to come to an end at some point because they can't carry on with such torture forever! **

**I am, of course, planning to do a post-party epilogue if people would like one?**

**Thank you to everyone who followed, favourited and reviewed, it gives me the motivation to keep posting x**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: let's face it, I couldn't possibly leave a story without a good dose of M&G kissing for you all.**

* * *

**Epilogue**

She'd run away. Some might've called it cowardice, but Georg knew the truth: Maria had made a difficult decision for the both of them. All summer he'd fought against his attraction to her, had bitterly resisted when he'd felt desire hopelessly morphing into affection. Like a petulant child, he'd clung to his denial, convincing himself that their budding friendship fell perfectly within the realms of propriety.

The right thing to do, the _proper_ thing to do, would've been to dismiss her long before his inappropriate feelings had ever begun to take hold. But of course, that would've meant actually having to be _honest_ with himself from the start; something he had apparently been incapable of doing thus far. Instead, he'd chosen to brush it all under the carpet, and would have continued to torture himself — and her — for the remainder of the summer, stubborn mule that he was.

It'd been foolish, of course, to pretend that things wouldn't eventually come to a head in some way or another. They'd been skirting around each other for months, had been playing with fire for far too long. And sure enough, all of their seemingly innocent flirtations, all of their shared glances and private exchanges, all the time they'd spent together in Paris — it'd all culminated into one singular moment the night of the party; a moment in which everything had irreversibly changed.

_At last_, he'd held her in his arms — in full view of his children and half of Salzburg's elite, no less. A light shiver skittered down his spine as he recalled the simple folk dance, somehow made extraordinary by an enchanting young woman in a traditional Austrian dress. The _heat_ between them, the sheer intensity of it had been so potent that it could simply no longer be ignored.

Not a word had been uttered between them and yet the truth had been thrust out into the open as blatantly as if they'd fallen into a fierce embrace. It was then that he should've realised they couldn't possibly continue going on this way. _I should've acted_, he censured himself,_ I should've done something!_

Yes — he should've done something. _Anything_ really, except for what he actually _did_ do, which was to treat her with cruel indifference in a desperate attempt to restore order. Countless times he'd been decorated for courage, and yet his darling governess had been a far braver soul than he. She'd taken it upon herself to do what was needed, to right the order of things. And her decision had given him the means to steer his ship back onto its rightful course. Its _only_ course, he had decided.

Except, she had now returned. To the villa. To _him_. Locked away brooding in his study, he'd almost missed his children's joyous cries out in the garden and the sound of that pure, crystalline voice he hadn't heard in twelve long days. But sure enough, when he'd followed the pandemonium, he'd discovered her right there in the centre of it — his governess — adorned in another dress even the poor didn't want, gazing up at him with quiet dignity. And suddenly his entire world had been wrenched sideways.

_"Why did you come back?"_

_"Please don't ask me..."_

No... he hadn't needed to ask her. Because deep down, he'd known the answer to his own question. As much as she might've tried to conceal it, one glance into her eyes had shown him that her heart was breaking right there at the bottom of his steps. She had left because of _him_. She had returned because of _him_. And, in his stupidity, he had refused to accept the role he'd played in the godawful mess they now found themselves in.

That had been mere hours ago. And now, even with the quietude of the night and the coolness of the evening breeze against his face out on his balcony, he was still just as confused as ever. For once in his life, he had no idea how to proceed, had no compass to direct his ship through stormy tides.

If he'd still been in any doubt about her state of mind at the bottom of those steps however, her behaviour through dinner had confirmed it to him. Quiet, meek, refusing to meet his eye; she had battled bravely through the meal for the sake of the children but had visibly winced whenever Elsa had pawed his hand on the tabletop or called him _darling_. Yes — he was almost certain now of Maria's feelings for him.

But it wasn't a simple case of black and white, he knew. Firstly, he had promised himself to another — a woman he cared for but did not love. There would be hurt feelings, as well as scandal and slander to face. Secondly, for all he knew, Maria still had every intention of taking her vows, another hurdle that would need to be crossed. More frightening still, was the prospect that he'd done so much damage that there was simply no coming back from it. There was so much to consider, so many obstacles to overcome, and despite his strategic mind, he could not see a way out.

But then, quite without warning, Maria appeared before him, her lithe form gliding forlornly across the gardens in the silvery moonlight that bounced off the lake, looking so much like the Maria from his Montmartre dream in her blue chiffon that his chest entirely constricted. It physically _hurt_, he realised. The yearning need to go down there and be with her, to touch her, to tell her she was not the only one suffering. It was a feeling that far superseded any logical arguments to the contrary, a feeling that sent all his carefully laid plans crumbling to dust.

It was in that singular moment that he knew — a truth so profound that suddenly he fought not to shout it into the inky night sky.

He loved her.

* * *

Maria collapsed upon the stone bench by the gazebo, her legs no longer able to carry the heavy burden of standing. She felt weak, deflated, shaky, as though the life was slowly being drained out of her. And wasn't it? she asked herself forlornly, remembering the way her heart had stopped beating upon hearing the news of the captain's engagement, only to feel it pound to life all over again when she'd found him staring at her from the top of the steps.

_"You left without saying goodbye. Even to the children..."_

His voice had been low, soft, tender — it'd reminded her of the night they'd spent together by the piano in Paris, when she'd told him secrets she thought she'd never tell anyone. But she couldn't think of that magical week in the French capital, not now. Not _ever_! It was too painful... to remember the things they'd learnt about each other, the places he'd shown her, even the heat in his eyes when they'd argued so savagely in the lashing rain. Surely it hadn't all been one-sided, had it?

_You did not imagine it, you did not!_ She told herself angrily. _You may have been naive, you may have dared to hope beyond your means, but you are not so delusional that you invented what had come to pass between you._ It was a small comfort at least — knowing that, even despite her humiliating exchange with the man she loved and his future wife earlier that day, she still had not questioned her sanity. Guileless though she may have been, she was still convinced that the captain too had felt this bizarre, addictive, exhilarating, painful thing blossoming between them.

But perhaps such feelings were irrelevant in his world, a world in which love paled in comparison to wealth, status and upbringing. Even if he _did_ love her... so what? It would not change a thing! A baron would not uproot his entire life for the likes of a mountain girl with nothing to her name, no matter how much he might adore her. It simply was not done.

No — the only way Maria would have the chance to express her feelings, to touch him, to love him the way she longed to, would be if she followed him, discreetly and stealthily, into his bed. Of course, Georg Von Trapp would always be the most honourable man she'd ever known — if he gave her any less than she longed for, it would not be through _choice_. It was just as she'd suspected in Paris: the dove and the sailor knew very different cages, but they were both caged nonetheless.

The most troubling thing though, was the fact that she could no longer bring herself to feel repulsed by the idea. Instead, she was gripped by something far greater, far more powerful than fear: _love_. A deep, intrinsic love burning ferociously in her heart that left her yearning to be with him, whatever the cost. But could she really do it? she wondered. Could she take whatever he had to offer her, without promise or security, with nothing but the unspoken assurance that he loved her in return—

"Hallo."

_No. No, he could not be here. Not now. Not yet. She was not ready._

"I thought I just might find you here."

She leapt to her feet just as her heart leapt to her throat, trying her best to appear professional, detached even — though her hands still shook like autumn leaves at the mere sight of him, "Was there something you wanted?"

To her disappointment and simultaneous relief, he did not step closer. Instead he simply studied her face with those piecing blue eyes for long moments, his expression one of innocent curiosity laced with the tiniest hint of playful amusement.

"You know," he chuckled, rubbing his ear in that endearing way she'd come to love so much, "you once told me — in justified anger, I might add — that you are not a child. And so, I will not insult either one of us tonight by treating you like one."

Oh God. They were going to have it out right here, right now, she realised. Was she brave enough for this? Could she bring herself to tell him _everything_? The painful surge of turmoil in her stomach told her otherwise.

When he finally spoke again his voice was gentle, but any trace of humour had left his face entirely.

"I know why you left," he murmured as though to a startled foal, ignoring her sharp intake of breath, "And what's more, I know why you came back..."

It seemed Maria hadn't entirely lost herself after all, because she felt some of her old, stubborn defiance coming back in full force. She would not crumble in front of him, not that easily!

"I had an obligation to fulfil and I came back to fulfil it," she retorted, lifting her chin in a display of false courage. It didn't work however, for he saw right through her. He always did.

"We both know that's not the truth," he replied with tender patience, "at least, not all of it."

Suddenly, she felt a prickle of righteous anger bubble in her chest at his presumptuous arrogance. How dared he stomp all over her heart and then claim to understand anything about her!

"You know _nothing_," she managed to choke as stubborn tears threatened behind her eyes.

"Nothing?" He echoed with heart-stopping seriousness, his eyes boring into hers, "I know that I spent a torturous week in Paris with ten people while longing for the company of only one," this time, he _did_ step closer, "I know that I've been miserable these past twelve days — yes, I counted — because I could feel your absence everywhere I went," another tentative step, "and I know that you have been miserable too."

The resulting silence that hung between them was so charged that Maria simply couldn't move. In just a few short words, he'd managed to describe with startling accuracy all the feelings she herself had been tortured with these past few weeks. In fact, the declaration had so stunned her, that she barely flinched when he closed the remaining gap between them in one final stride, though he was careful not to lay a finger on her.

"I... I missed the children..." she argued meekly, but the words died on her lips.

"Only the children?" He rasped.

Rooted to the spot, unable to look away from him, she gave a dazed shake of the head that was barely perceptible, but nevertheless spoke volumes.

"Did you think I was oblivious?" he asked with stirring tenderness, "That you were suffering through it alone?"

Those eyes would be her undoing, she realised, and so she squeezed her own tight shut, not so much to prevent the stubborn tears from escaping but to stop him from being able to read her mind. She should've known, she was not brave enough for this after all.

"Stop," she begged weakly, "just stop it. I don't want to talk about—"

"I know you don't, but we've _got_ _to_," he implored, the raw emotion in his voice forcing her mutinous eyes open once again, "We've _both_ got to be brave now, my darling."

It was all just too much for Maria. The silky tendrils of his voice curling around her heart, the intimate endearment on his lips, the compassion and ardour in his gaze, she could hardly endure the ache that blossomed in her chest in response to it. Clutching at her stomach, she made to move away from him, toward the safety of the gazebo — but the distress in his next words stopped her in her tracks.

"Please. Don't run from me," he beseeched, his expression pained, "not again. I really don't think I could bear it."

So he _did_ know, then — that she'd fled the villa because of _him_. The thought made her want the ground to swallow her up. Would there be any end to her humiliation?

"I'm sure I've made you feel many things since the day we met, not all of them good," he continued, "but not once have you ever _feared_ me. Here," as carefully as though he was picking up an injured bird, he took her shaking hand in his and cupped it against his cheek, removing his own touch to show her she had every chance to pull away, "it's just me... only me. I would _never_ hurt you."

Maria's heart hammered in her throat and her first instinct was to pull her hand away as though she'd been scorched. But he was warm, and soft, and gentle, and before she could stop herself she was caressing his skin with trembling fingers — his cheekbone, his jawline — hardly daring to believe that she was touching him, really _touching_ _him_, at last. She watched, fascinated, as the man she'd once believed to be made of stone melted like an affection-starved young boy against her touch, any remaining walls of formality crumbing to dust between them.

His eyelids fluttered closed as he sighed softly in pleasure, and when they finally flew open again his irises were pure blue flames.

"_Maria_..."

He turned into her caress and pressed the lightest of kisses against her palm, but with the way he was looking at her she felt it skitter throughout her entire body. It was then that she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Georg Von Trapp loved her. _It's his eyes_, she'd once told herself while admiring him in front of Sacre Couer, _they tell so many stories it's impossible to look away._ And the very same held true now, she realised — even if he never confessed his love out loud, even if he never announced it to the world, even if he married another, the pure unadulterated affection in his gaze told her everything she needed to know: it had _never_ been her imagination...

Instinctively, and without a single coherent thought, she reached for him, a second hand joining the first and brushing the hair from his forehead in silent need. Even through the blood pounding in her ears, she caught the way his breath hitched, could see the surprise and the want playing out across his face — and when she dared to lean in and press her lips featherlight to the corner of his mouth, she felt the shudder wrack through his entire body as though he'd been hit by a sharp alpine breeze. If there was even the _slightest_ flicker of doubt left in her mind about her captain's feelings for her, his next confession crushed it in an instant.

_"I love you."_

Her heart barely had time to soar before she was swept fiercely into his arms and he was claiming her mouth with his own, her chaste kiss apparently having ignited that untameable something that had hung suspended between them all summer. And now, having finally given up the fight at long last, she could not contain her sob of relief as she fell against the solid, comforting weight of him. Blood rushed up to her head and other places as his lips coaxed urgent sensations from her that were nothing short of intoxicating. Rough yet gentle, wild yet restrained, it was an intimacy driven by three long months of need, she knew — and it seemed that he too was lost to it, given the deep, heady sound that rumbled from his chest.

The moment was so poignant, so stirring, so breathtaking, that she could've wept from the sheer, unrestrained beauty of it all. If this is what it would be like to let him love her, even in secret, then she would welcome it a thousand times over. Basking in the relief of finally being able to express her feelings, she brushed her open lips down the scar on his chin, along his jaw, back up towards his mouth and—

"_Wait_, darling, wait!" Georg pulled back reluctantly, his mind reeling from the sheer joy of finally being able to hold her in his arms. In truth, when he'd left the balcony to come in search of her, he'd expected a timid discussion, a gentle coaxing for the truth, followed by some bashful declarations of love. What he had _not_ expected, was for his Maria to brand him with the fire of her touch. He needed to tread carefully, he knew — there was still so much to talk about, after all.

"If we keep... doing this..." he fumbled, his lips finding her temple, grazing across her forehead and down her cheek, behind her ear, in the sweetest and yet most sensuous of gestures, "I won't be able to stop."

"I don't _want_ you to stop," he heard her whisper, her sweet voice strained with emotion, "I told you earlier I would leave once arrangements could be made for another governess. But I understand now what it would need to be like between us. And I'm not afraid of it, not anymore," his brave Maria looked him dead in the eye then, without fear or hesitation, "You must know captain — _Georg_ — that I... I will stay. Even if no one must ever know."

He was rendered momentarily speechless, suddenly feeling as though he'd been doused in cold water. Of all the things he'd expected her to say, he could not have anticipated that she would offer to... the realisation made his heart twist, not only with desire but with sadness as well. Sadness that she would deem herself so unworthy of the devotion and respect she deserved, the devotion and respect he longed to give her.

"Oh, my love..." he stroked the satin of her cheek, moved by the enormity of the sacrifices she was willing to make just so they could be together, "You would do that, for me?"

She nodded resolutely, though he could feel her body trembling in his arms, "you _love_ me," she echoed, "and I love you. It is enough."

"Maria," he interrupted gravely, ignoring the shameful spark of desire that lit his blood at the thought, "it is _not_ enough. Not for me. The only way I will _ever_ experience the honour of taking you to bed is if it's in the privacy of our honeymoon suite."

She frowned in confusion, "but, the baroness—"

"There isn't going to _be_ any baroness," he told her firmly, "She's leaving for Vienna in the morning."

"I don't understand."

"We've parted ways, you see," he explained, "I should've told you sooner, but I confess you entirely robbed me of the ability to think!"

She rewarded him with a delectably sheepish little smile, one that he returned before his face became serious again.

"Did you really think I could marry one woman and love another?" He asked, holding her closer, "That I could steal into your bed under the cover of night, but treat you coldly in the broad light of day?"

She shook her head mutely but he caught the smallest flicker of self-doubt cross her face.

"I couldn't do it, Maria. I could barely treat you with indifference when you were supposed to be nothing more than my _governess_, for pity's sake, let alone if you were to become my lover! That week we spent in Paris was unbearable. Especially with that little _termite_, John-Claude—"

"You mean Jacques..."

"_Whatever_," he rolled his eyes petulantly, "I hated every second of that trip!"

"Oh, I don't know," his sassy little Fraulein flashed him a coy smile, "there _were_ moments that I found rather pleasant."

With a low chuckle, he stole another kiss from her, one that threatened to send them spiralling into another state of frenzy. But he managed to stop them just in time.

"Maria?" He mumbled against her lips some moments later.

"Hmm?"

"Is there anyone I should go to, to ask permission to marry you?"

She pulled back to look at him then, her wide blue eyes full of wonder and promise, "Well," she thought for a moment, "why don't we ask—"

_"The children?"_

* * *

It was some time later that they found themselves in Georg's study, she nestled comfortably in his lap upon the leather sofa, the opportunity for uninterrupted privacy too tempting to ignore. By the morning, they would need to break the news to the children, Max, the staff, the Reverend Mother, _everyone_ — and once the cat was out of the bag, a whole new kind of chaos would undoubtedly ensue. But tonight? Tonight would be theirs, and theirs alone.

"You know," Georg croaked hoarsely, interrupting their rapidly intensifying kiss, "as soon as everyone finds out about us, we won't get a single moment of privacy until the honeymoon."

"Will it really be so bad?" Maria pouted, secretly mourning the loss of his mouth on hers but revelling in the way he cradled her closer as she toyed absentmindedly with the hair at the nape of his neck.

"Far worse," he grouched, "There'll be endless chaperones, seven excitable children, and one rather formidable Reverend Mother to contend with. Not to mention an extremely annoying, though arguably charming, sponge."

She couldn't help but giggle at the sulky scowl that crossed his face.

"Well," she offered brightly, toying a little with his tie, "think of it this way. It means we'll look forward to the honeymoon even more."

Something shifted in his gaze then, something subtle but unmistakably dark and urgent. And before she knew it, his hands were snaking into her hair and he was kissing her again, this time with a hunger she hadn't yet known he was capable of. It stirred her deeply, driving her onward, drawing her closer to his body, making her ache for an elusive something — until he tore his mouth away again, far too soon for her liking.

"Speaking of which—" he rasped, gracefully ignoring her little huff of protest in favour of clinging onto the remnants of his self-control, "—where do you think you might like to go? On our honeymoon, I mean."

She thought seriously for a few seconds, but really she already knew her answer. There was only one place she desperately wanted to be with him.

"Paris," she stated simply.

He stared at her as though she'd sprouted a second head.

"You do realise, Maria darling, that we've only just _returned_ from Paris?"

She gave him a playful smack on the arm.

"I know that," she insisted impatiently, "but it's just as you said. It _was_ torture — spending a week with you in such a beautiful city, but not being able to touch you, or talk to you, or share in any of it with you. I fell in love with that city, Georg; not just the Paris in the tourist books, but _your_ Paris," she gazed at him with such fervour then, that he simply couldn't breathe, "can't we make it _our_ Paris?"

It made perfect sense, he realised, as he pulled her mindlessly into his arms again, self-control be damned. Had he not once mused that she was made for the bewitching place? Where every nook and cranny was purely remarkable in its simplicity and simultaneous grandeur? Only now, they could rewrite history, returning to all the places they had secretly pined for one another.

Sacre Coeur — where it would be her gentle hand, and not the breeze, that swept the hair from his brow. The Louvre — where he would tease her about marble heroes while watching her smile through her guileless blushes. The opera — where he would hold her proudly on his arm for everyone else to see. And then later, back at their suite — where he would peel the ivory dress from her body and show her all the ways he longed to love her. It had always been _their_ city really, right from the very start.

_Paris would love the girl as much as the girl would love Paris._ There was never a truer word said.

* * *

**A/N: I hope you'll forgive me for utterly butchering the canon gazebo scene, but this chapter just seemed to write itself. I know it's widely covered on the FF site but I really wanted to make the canon fit into my version of events this time round. **

**I always wondered whether Maria would have stayed without a marriage proposal, because in the movie, they get wrapped up in quite a lot of kissing and love-declaring before Georg even so much as mentions marrying her. She also tells him she's found the life she was born to live - but this is way before he proposes to her. So maybe she believed her life was supposed to be with him no matter the circumstances... who knows! That's why I love fanfics so much, the possibilities are endless.**

**Thank you to all for reading x**


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